


Shared Shackles

by TrashyNyx



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol/Drug Use, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, such cute and broken bbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyNyx/pseuds/TrashyNyx
Summary: -- Undergoing some major proofreading, so pardon any mess! [current progress: 1/7]--Two ghouls, two invisible shackles that bind, two opposites of a similar coin.One a pre-War soldier, reformed to obediently serve, primed to kill on command; the other a tame dreamer, a gentle soul looking for their place in the world.No one expected them to cross paths, let alone walk those paths together.
Relationships: Gob/Charon (Fallout)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. Just Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Revamped/proofread: 2/5/21]

Charon let out a gruff sigh as his employer, the owner of Underworld’s bar The Ninth Circle, polished glasses, greeting the one or two customers he _always_ had at this ungodly hour of night. Or was it morning? He couldn’t discern it anymore; it amazed him that some could start their vice so early. With a shake of his head, Charon leaned back against the wall, arms crossed tight in front of his torso. He could _really_ go for a drink and a smoke.

Of course, Ahzrukhal wouldn’t allow that as long as he took those disgusting breaths of his.

Charon stood in the far corner of the bar -- he may as well carve his name into the marble -- akin to a statue. Tall and foreboding, his musculature only accentuated his towering form. His sharp blue eyes darted around the bar in watch. 

Charon inwardly cringed when his gaze landed upon Ahzrukhal. He could never understand how the smarmy bastard managed to charm his patrons with that slimy smile and insatiable greed oozing from his flaky pores.

As always, none of the customers paid Charon any mind. And it was better that way.

The day was at least one of the more eventful in quite awhile, which did good to distract Charon from his employer’s scrutiny. Like clockwork, Patchwork caused a ruckus and had to be tossed out of the door, along with the hand he yet again lost on the way. A couple of men who were a little too eager with the scotch started a fight that Charon was ordered to “break up and handle,” and the result was two bloody, bruised, wheezing ghouls who very quickly mellowed out (and even ordered more drinks, much to the Ahzrukhal’s glee).

There seemed to be no stop to patrons’ antics, as countless of them were violently grabbed by the collar and chucked out like a meat bag. Some even went so far as to try and fight back. _Tried_.

The day dragged on until finally the bar started to clear out, though there were still a few drunkards who practically lived on their respective stools. Ahzrukhal tapped his fingers roughly on the counter as he counted his earnings for the night. From the corner, Charon tried his best to read his employer’s expression -- a strange amalgamation of contentment and frustration. 

The profits were not up to standard… and that was soon made clear to him.

“Low today…” Ahzrukhal muttered to himself with a growl. “Do you know _why_ that is, Charon?”

He didn’t respond. He was not obligated to. That and he didn’t even have an explanation to give -- not one that Ahzrukhal would like, anyways.

Ahzrukhal sighed; the fact Charon did not humor him seemed to only add fuel to the fire. He slammed a hand on the counter, causing all the glasses and bottlecaps to jarringly clink together. “ _Well_?”

Charon’s response was level, robotic, though there was a slight undertone of annoyance to his words. “You repeatedly ordered me to escort customers out. I simply did as you commanded.”

With a frustrated snarl, Ahzrukhal threw the all-too-light bag of caps into the wall safe and slammed its door shut. He snatched a bottle of scotch and an inhaler of UltraJet from the fridge behind the counter, wasting no time indulging himself. 

Charon’s muscles tensed. This was always the time of night he dreaded… when Ahzrukhal delved into the “personal” stash. It always made him… _unpredictable_.

“Charon, Charon, _Charon_ …” Ahzrukhal drawled, flashing his yellowing teeth with a grin. He huffed a startlingly long hit of the inhaler, chasing it with half of the scotch. “... I don’t really _appreciate_ being blamed for such things. Now, I believe some _punishment_ is in order. Don’t you _agree_?”

He knew there was absolutely _no_ sound logic to his employer’s words. Charon just stood there in silence, his posture unwavering. Ahzrukhal only grew more and more aggravated, and he banged the counter again. A glass fell to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces. 

Then, there was an uncharacteristic silence. Charon felt the remaining patches of his skin prickle and his lips twitch.

The now-empty bottle of scotch soon was thrown to the floor, its shattered fragments joining the glass’s. The two patrons still lingering promptly high-tailed out as if their lives depended on it -- perhaps they did.

Ahzrukhal was _fuming_ , his brow furrowed, his eyes more soulless than usual, and his mangy hands curled into tight, shaking fists. He stomped towards Charon, though it was more of a shuffle, and it was honestly pathetic how much he had to crane his neck up. 

But it didn’t matter. They both knew Ahzrukhal held all the power… no matter what appearances might’ve alluded to.

“What do _you_ think I should do, Charon?” he drawled, a hand tugging the collar of Charon’s undershirt aggressively. “What punishment is _acceptable?_ ”

“Physical violence invalidates the contract.”

Another irate snarl; the grip on Charon’s collar tightened. “I… I don’t want to see your _repulsive_ face anymore…” he sneered, attempting to push Charon backwards into the wall, but to no avail — which only seemed to anger Ahzrukhal more. “ _Leave._ ”

“As you wish.” Without a second glance, Charon brushed past Ahzrukhal to head to the door. 

Then suddenly, a jarring command of “stop” sounded behind him. Charon’s feet immediately cemented in place. The remains of his skin tingled. He could _feel_ Ahzrukhal’s rotten breath on the back of his neck, could _smell_ the putrid fumes of UltraJet and the too-potent scotch; it all made Charon nauseous.

“Is there… a _problem_ , Charon?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t _think_ so…” Ahzrukhal sneered. He hastily fetched another bottle of scotch and immediately popped it open. “… I thought I told you to _leave_!” he yelled angrily, apparently forgetting he had even ordered Charon to stop in the first place.

Charon said nothing, instead promptly making a start to exit the bar. His hand was on the doorknob when a bottle was smashed on the marble by his feet. Without pause, he continued to make his way out, and he heard that slimy voice behind him.

“All you do out there is stand and watch. _Nothing. Else_.” Charon knew exactly what that meant: yet another night of no rest and no food. Just stand there and wait until ordered otherwise.

Same shit, different day. 

Charon simply nodded. “As you wish.”

He assumed his typical post leaned against the wall right next to the door. From his perch, Charon was able to watch the entire upper and lower levels, and as his eyes scanned the concourse, he pulled out a slightly-crunched pack of cigarettes. The air was significantly less stuffy -- one of the small reliefs he learned to appreciate. He lit his cigarette, relishing in the sensation of the smoke sitting in his lungs before exhaling through the cavity of his nose.

Peace and quiet -- the only reason Charon didn’t ever mind this particular order. 

Most of Underworld had retired for the night. There were the occasional coughs of those still awake, and, of course, the muffled banging and smashing of glass and furniture from inside the bar. Charon took another long drag.

His gaze caught Willow’s as she walked in, relieved of her watch by Quinn. She offered a small smile, and he curtly nodded in return. Another drag.

A loud crack against the door immediately put Charon on edge. With muscles coiled tight and ready, he unsheathed his combat knife and promptly entered the bar. 

It was an absolute _mess_. Glass shards littered the floor and tabletops -- few of them still even upright -- and amidst the fragments and splinters laid a nauseating amount of empty UltraJet inhalers. “Son of a bitch…” Charon mumbled under his breath.

Suddenly, there were sharp thuds and incoherent muffles from the back room behind the counter. Charon’s shotgun was in his hand in an instant, and he let his smoke join the debris on the floor. He trudged his way to the room, his gaze down his sights and finger sitting on the trigger. 

His head started to throb when he placed a hand on the doorknob, the pain piercing behind his eyes.

Charon narrowly avoided the door as it flung open violently to reveal a _very_ inebriated Ahzrukhal. His eyes were wide, bloodshot and glazed over. The once (somewhat) tidy businesswear he wore was now disheveled, his black tie hanging half-undone around his neck and jacket unbuttoned. The stabbing pain coursing through his head was Charon’s indication to lower his weapon, though he still kept the gun tight in his grasp.

“Wwwhat did I… _Tell. You_ ,” Ahzrukhal growled, his wheezing breaths only made more sinister by the strong slur to his words. “I thought I _told_ you… _tooo stay outside…_ ” He teetered precariously towards Charon, whose heart was racing, even though he stood _many_ inches taller.

The little bastard had Charon at his mercy. They _both_ knew that.

Ahzrukhal’s lips crawled into a sleazy grin as he collided into the door frame. “You are disssobeying me… _shuffler_.”

“Apologies, it will not happen again.”

“Dessserves a _punishmment_ , I think…” Ahzrukhal snatched a broom from the wall and aggressively threw it at Charon. “Youuu are going to clean this mess up… and you will do push-ups _every_ 5 minutesss… _for_ 5 minutes…” he snarled. “... and you know what happens if it isnn’t… _spotless_.”

Ahzrukhal didn’t even wait for a response, turning around and making his way to the dingy mattress underneath the wall safe, and scratchy snores soon rang in the bar. Charon allowed himself to let out a low, gruff growl, his hands gripping the broom like a vice and teeth grinding.

“As you command.”

\---

Charon was sore, glistening with sweat and exhausted by the time the next afternoon (“morning” for Ahzrukhal) rolled around. He had stripped off his armor quite some time ago in an effort to combat the stifling hot air, leaving Charon in just his pants and now-soaked black undershirt. A shiver racked his body involuntarily as his body tried to cool itself. He ran a hand through the sparse russet hair he had before resuming his task with a long sigh.

As he straightened the final table and jerry-rigged the last of the cracked chairs, Charon leaned against the wall with a _thud_. He had just enough time to burn through half of a cigarette before Ahzrukhal stirred. Charon hastily put it out and fixed his posture to be attentive and rigid, much to his muscles’ protest.

Rubbing his temples to try and lessen the pounding headache he now likely was suffering with -- something Charon took even the tiniest relish in -- Ahzrukhal started to survey the open area, on the hunt for _any_ mistakes. He was silent as he went to unlock the doors. Charon felt himself wanting to fidget. It wasn’t until Ahzrukhal was behind the counter did his eyes suddenly dart around, his lips contorting into a snarl. 

“ _Charon_ , I thought I said _perfect_.” 

He followed his employer’s gaze. The chairs… _fuck_. In particular, one that was more splintered than the rest. Though it was still in one piece, it rested there quite precariously and honestly was sore on the eyes, what with the duct tape around its legs.

Soon, Charon was pinned against the wall he leaned on. “You think _that_ is perfect, do you? Perhaps I should have Tulip teach your _stupid zombie brain_ what that words means.”

Ahzrukhal gripped Charon’s collar until his knuckles turned white, violently pulling so they stood face-to-face. A wave of pure hatred seemed to crash over him, and suddenly, Ahzrukhal’s hand wrapped around the base of Charon’s neck. It wasn’t anywhere near tight enough to choke him, but still, an intense pain crackled down Charon’s spine. He simply glared into the bastard’s eyes. “Physical violence--”

“ _I know damn well_ ,” Ahzrukhal gritted through his teeth. His hand tightened for an instance before jerking away. 

It was pretty obvious that at that moment, Ahzrukhal wished the contract didn’t exist.

He huffed, turning to return to the counter. “I’ve opened already, so get your damn armor and weapons back on, _shuffler_. Then back to your post… _without another word_.”

Charon, of course, immediately complied. He soon stood at his corner, and the monotony of the day began. 

At least, until it was interrupted by a loud thud of the door being thrust open. Ahzrukhal leapt a good few feet at the noise, and Charon habitually readied his knife. He allowed himself to relax, however, when he heard Ahzrukhal mutter, “Carol… don’t scare me like that, darling. Might give me a heart attack one of these days.”

_Maybe I should ask her to do it more often, then,_ Charon thought.

Carol from the adjoining Carol’s Place now stood in her competitor’s bar -- something frankly surprising. It was obvious she was distraught. Her eyes were red and bloodshot as if she had been crying, and her movements seemed frantic. She stole a glance at Charon, offering a weak, sad smile before making her way to the counter.

“Ahzrukhal… I-I have a matter that requires...” she mumbled, sobs crawling into her speech as she slid a letter across the grimy countertop. She again looked Charon’s way, if only for a second. “... your assistance.”

Once he had read the letter over, a sleazy, crooked smirk formed on Ahzrukhal’s face. He leaned back, a hand resting on the handle of the fridge door. Charon stifled a growl; that bastard had that look… like he was looking to make a sale. 

“I’d love to help, _darling_. But… what would you have me do? I have a bar to run, after all.”

Carol exhaled, weak and defeated, and from a pocket of her dress appeared a quite-hefty bag of caps that made a satisfying _clunk_ on the counter. Ahzrukhal’s brows shot up, while Carol sternly looked into his eyes, leaning forward just enough to whisper only to him. “I was thinking… of Charon. He is the _only_ one who can save my Gob from that… _monster_.”

Ahzrukhal was petting the bag of caps like a damn goblin. “A monster to eliminate a monster… how _poetic_ ,” he chuckled to himself. “You want your _Gobbie_ back that bad, don’t you?” 

Carol simply nodded -- and that was enough.

“ ** _Charon_**!”

The sudden yell caused her to jump, and she let out a yelp as Charon seemed to poof into existence behind her. 

Ahzrukhal glared in Charon’s direction. His orders were blunt, direct. “Go to Megaton. Get Gob. Kill anyone who stands in your way or tries to stop you. Bring Carol’s boy back in one piece… _period_.” He paused, wheezing to catch his breath. “ _Leave. Now_.”

Without so much as a nod, Charon turned and walked out the door with a purposeful stride. He had his orders; he required nothing more. 

On his way out, he heard Carol’s motherly voice call out to him. “Please, be careful!”


	2. Infiltration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Revamped/proofread: 3/2/21]

Charon stopped by Tulip’s hole-in-the-wall store before leaving, picking up the essentials: shotgun shells, rations, a couple packs of cigarettes. He was grateful that she didn’t start one of her fantastical tangents about Satanic practices and their significance.

He was just out of the store’s entryway when suddenly, he was blocked by a livid ghoulette. An incessant clicking echoed in Charon’s ears as she tapped her high-heeled foot. It was Carol’s partner, Greta, and she was most definitely pissed.

Charon had to stifle an annoyed sigh. He _really_ didn’t have the time or patience for this shit -- especially not today.

“So, just _what_ did Carol tell you to do?” Greta demanded, her eyes narrowing, trying to be threatening.

“Nothing. My orders come from Ahzrukhal alone.”

“Right, I forgot, because you’re his little fuckin’ _lap dog_ ,” she snapped, taking a few steps forward to get into Charon’s face. “I don’t care who told you. _What are you doing?_ ”

He wasn’t obligated to answer.

“ _Fine_ , keep your secrets, you _pet_ , but I swear, if you upset or disappoint her...” Greta trailed off, huffing angrily as she turned and made her way back up the stairs. 

Charon let his eyes roll, and he continued his exit from the Museum without any more interruption.

The bright Wasteland sun stung his eyes, and he had to blink a few times to grow accustomed to it; it had been a handful of days since Charon last saw daylight. 

“Heya, big guy. Haven’t seen you out and about in a bit… Ahzrukhal finally need more o’that “special stuff?”” 

He just shook his head silently as he lit himself a cigarette. Willow was one of the few ghouls that Charon could be at least _somewhat_ comfortable around. She didn’t pointlessly pry him for conversation, yet also didn’t immediately turn tail at his mere presence. Most of their interactions were quick and quiet, typically sharing a smoke before Charon had to go fetch Ahzrukhal’s “precious cargo” from Murphy.

“Well, if it isn’t that, where are you off to this time?”

After a long drag, Charon eyeballed her out of his peripheral before continuing his blank stare into the ruins. A couple Super Mutants were fighting over a sledgehammer, of all things. 

“Megaton.” He didn't miss how Willow’s eyes bulged.

“ _Megaton_? The hell for? That is so far…”

“Carol paid Ahzrukhal to have me retrieve Gob. That is all I know.”

“Wait… ‘ _retrieve_ ’ Gob? No, no way...”

Charon simply had to look at her, and Willow’s eyes lit up and a smile crept on her face. From a waist pouch, she fetched another pack of cigarettes and handed it to him -- her gesture of good will. He took it with a silent nod. She chuckled, patting him warm-heartedly on the shoulder as he turned to start descending into the metro system.

“Go get him, big guy. Go bring our Gob back _home_.”

\---

Charon grunted as studied the worn down map in his hands. It was faded, very much so dated -- a pre-War document showing the routes of the DC metro. He traced the very long route he had to take to end up across the Potomac and let out an exasperated, annoyed breath.

Besides the occasional molerat, the trek was quite uneventful. The ferals left him alone, simply casting him a soulless glance before snarling and limbering away. He tried not to think about if such a fate were to befall him, choosing instead to hyper-focus on the task he had been assigned.

He _finally_ arrived at Metro Central, making a sharp left to start yet another long walk through DC’s muggy and dilapidated underbelly. Charon came upon another fork in the tunnels, and in the dimness of one of the few working lights, he checked the map again, determining he had to continue on. He knew he was getting close to the river as he came across the start of flooded tracks. With a grumble, Charon took off his boots, using the laces to tie them to his belt, and pushed up his pants above his knees. The last thing he wanted on this already testing, arduous journey was drenched shoes. 

He waded through for what seemed like hours before finally entering the Arlington Cemetery North station. Before returning to the surface, Charon replaced his boots, pushed the legs of his pants back down, and flung his shotgun into his hands. Cautiously, he opened the metal gate, inwardly cringing when it squeaked, the sound echoing through the tunnels.

Charon could see a large formation of metal and piping on the horizon when he reached the top of the stairs. Megaton.

Besides blasting away the occasional mutated creature, Charon found himself rather bored. Though when he was in the eyesight of Megaton, Charon crouched behind a large rock immediately. _Fucking sniper… great._

He was pretty sure as a lone, armed, large ghoul, he’d get a .308 in his head instead of a warm greeting.

Time for a secondary plan, then.

Taking care to avoid the sniper’s line of sight, Charon slunk along the city wall, looking for any potential opening -- whether it was already there or someplace he could easily make one. It was at the back end that Charon noticed a small, child-sized hole in the sheet metal. _It’ll have to work,_ he thought as he unsheathed his knife. This would require some elbow grease. 

After sawing away for a few minutes, the hole was almost twice as big -- it’d be a tight fit, an inconvenience in a rush, but it’d have to do. He stripped off his gun and armor, sliding them through the hole first before crawling through. He concealed his entryway with the sheet of metal loosely, ducking behind a building to reequip his gear. 

Combat knife ready, Charon snuck in the cover of the buildings. He wasn’t entirely certain what or who he was looking for -- only the name “Moriarty.” 

It didn’t take long for Charon to spot the glaring sign for “Moriarty’s Saloon,” however. _Found you, you pompous bastard._

He stopped short of the back door when a hearty laugh sounded from the ramp. The smell of a stale cigarette tingled what remained of Charon’s nose; God, they reeked like those same rotten smokes Ahzrukhal burned through. Charon sat in the safety of the shadows, taking to listening to his surroundings… and the conversation the smoker started having with themselves.

“Oi, that ghoul _always_ be causing me trouble…”

Charon hated this guy already… and what the absolute fuck was that _utterly_ _annoying_ accent anyway?

“... First he drops me glasses, then he doesn’t stock the right liquor. What does he think this is?” He paused to puff his cigarette. “I already gave him a piece of me mind yesterday… but I wonder if I should give him another. Might get the lad to work faster, hm.” There was a chuckle… one that Charon recognized as one of evil intent. The grip around his knife tightened. His teeth ground together with jaws clenched. 

Target acquired.

\---

With the lightest of footsteps, Charon slunk in behind Moriarty, ducking behind a shelf just as the barkeep turned to shut the door. There was a palpable stench of liquor, smoke, sex, and some metallic hint from the sheet-metal infrastructure. Particles of grime and dust floated through the muggy air, and Charon could hear the creaks of a bed from upstairs.

This place came damn close to beating The Ninth Circle in the shithole department -- quite a feat.

Charon merely observed, particularly watching Moriarty like a hawk. When Gob entered his field of view, his eyes darted over. Gob’s face was gaunt, his pasty eyes sunken in, fearful and timid. The tight line that was his lips only opened up to get customers’ orders. Whenever Moriarty approached, he quite visibly shuddered, eyes immediately cast downwards.

Charon readied his knife. He continued to sit… waiting for that _precise_ moment… 

Gob polished a glass in silence, eyeballing Moriarty from his peripheral, flinching at _any_ movement that was remotely hostile. People snickered and mocked, a behavior unfortunately all too normal, it seemed.

“Oi, Gob, how be the business?”

“F-Fine, Moriarty, sir…” Gob responded shakily, feebly attempting to not fumble the glass.

Moriarty snickered, suddenly grabbing Gob’s forearm -- tight enough that the ghoul lost his footing. The glass fell to the floor, the piercing sounds of it shattering bouncing on the metal walls. Charon could see the barkeep’s eyes flare with a (nauseatingly) familiar pure, unadulterated, and misplaced anger.

And then Moriarty snapped. He punched Gob square in the jaw with a sickening _crack_. Laughter erupted in the saloon, patrons cheered and practically begged for more. 

“Seems like ye be lying to me, _zombie_ … Broken glasses don’t equal _fine_ , do they? So… let us try this _again_. Ye don’t want to disappoint me, do ye? You know what happens when ye _do_.” Another punch, and Charon could feel his stomach clench in anticipation. His knuckles turned white, the grip on his knife like a vise.

“P-Please, sir…” 

Moriarty’s boisterous laughter roared over the hoots and hollers of the crowd, and he tossed Gob aside carelessly. The ghoul landed heavily on the floor, and an attempt to stand resulted in a violent stomp to pin him down.

Charon leapt out of the shadows like a man possessed, his actions instinctive. His orders clear, repeating over and over.

_Get Gob. Kill anyone who stands in your way or tries to stop you. Bring Carol’s boy back in one piece… period._

In such a fluid motion, he plunged his knife quickly in-and-out of Moriarty’s calf; Charon used the opening to easily scoop Gob into his arms and kick himself through the back door. There were panicked screams, angry yells, bellows of “get that fucking _zombie_!” Charon didn’t stop his bounding strides. He held Gob close to his front, and he could hear the frail ghoul start to sob.

“Ye _motherfucker_! _He is_ _mine_!”

Bullets started to pepper the ground behind Charon’s feet as he ran -- thankfully, the barkeep’s aim was lack-luster -- and Moriarty’s screaming of obscenities never let up. The contract pulled, pounded at the base of Charon’s skull. **He is in your way. Ahzrukhal said to** **_kill_ ** **anyone in your way.**

Shotgun readied and tight in his grasp, Charon turned, instinctively pulling the trigger with an angry growl. In a split and thunderous moment, Moriarty’s face had been reduced to a mangled mess on his shoulders. As he sprinted back to his makeshift entrance, Charon could hear frantic screams or demanding orders to scout out the culprit.

“Go, now.” Charon was very curt with his words and actions, setting Gob down firmly enough to make him yelp. He didn’t provide any explanation; he simply nudged the smaller ghoul until Gob got the message and started crawling through the wall.

The fit was tight as Charon feverishly crawled through, his jaw clenched tight as the metal pinched and scraped his sides. He grunted, swore under his breath as he struggled against either the constrictive space or the grabs and pulls at his ankles. Each kick with his steel-toed combat boots earned a shrill yelp, and finally, Charon managed to slunk completely through, hastily replacing the sheet of steel and flinging his shotgun in his hands.

He turned with the intent to order the small bartender to follow and instead was greeted by wide, surprised pasty eyes with tears brimming at their edges.

“I… Is that you… C-Charon?”


	3. Watch Your Six

Charon didn’t have time to answer (nor did he really want to). Angry shouts and devastated wails reverberated off Megaton’s walls in an eerie echo. Charon wasted no time - he snatched Gob up in his arms and ran. His order was the only thing on his mind.

And Charon _ran_.

He zig-zagged between the rocks, narrowly avoiding the sniper’s volley; there were a few instances Charon could _feel_ the ripple of the rounds through the air. He ran back through the tunnels, pushing through the hordes of ferals in the metro, earning some unsettling shrills and shrieks. He ran back up to the surface, skipping steps on the way up, and he pressed on until they arrived at a concealing pile of concrete just on the outskirts of The Mall. Charon gently put Gob down and took a seat beside him, resting his head on the rock behind them, letting his eyes close, and worked to catch his breath. It had been quite some time since he winded himself that much, and even though they were so close to Underworld, Charon’s knees ached and he feared they would collapse underneath him if they went any further without a quick rest - _much_ to the contract’s protest.

Gob shifted uncomfortably beside him. He didn’t know what to do… it had all happened so fast. It did not even dawn on him where they were for a few moments, not until Gob saw the familiar flags hanging from the streetlights. They were in DC… The Mall. Suddenly, all Gob could think about was Carol - his mom (adopted, technically, but Gob never acknowledged the distinction). Would he finally see her again? It has been a _long_ time. Would she even recognize him? After swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Gob decided to finally break the silence.

“So… w-who sent you?”

Charon snapped his eyes open, and they seemed to immediately fixate on Gob’s - it honestly unsettled the barkeep. “Carol paid Ahzrukhal to have me come retrieve you from Megaton. My orders are to bring you back to Underworld alive and to kill who or whatever stands in the way of that.”

Gob looked at Charon in disbelief. So it _was_ Carol; Gob’s heart throbbed at the realization he _would_ get to see her again… though she must’ve been desperate if she had turned to that slimebag Ahzrukhal, of all people. Then again, no one else would have been able to do what Charon just did… and maybe Carol knew that, too.

Charon had assumed his resting position again - eyes closed, head leaned back, an arm draped over a bent knee, the other hand instinctively gripping his shotgun. He looked as if he was asleep, but Gob knew better than that. He found himself unable to look away, occupying his hands by tossing a small rock between them, taking in every aspect of Charon as they sat there. He never even thought he would see Charon again either when he left Underworld so many years ago to pursue his dream, let alone in this particular circumstance. It still seemed so surreal to Gob. He found himself sitting there, all sorts of what-ifs plaguing him… and yet, through it all, he _could not_ take his eyes off Charon. Why?

Gob was quickly brought back when Charon shot up from his seated position and started firing at something in the distance. Gob barely heard an order barked at him, and thankfully, his brain registered it. He crawled his way behind a nearby piece of uplifted concrete for cover. His eyes caught a glimpse of bright green, and Gob’s stomach churned. Super Mutants. There must have been at least five or six from what Gob could make out. He wished he could assist, but he didn’t carry a weapon; Moriarty would never allow it. Gob looked around in a hurried attempt to find something, _anything_ , he could use to defend himself and help Charon.

Then, an outright disgusting sound caught his attention. It was some kind of… slurping? Gob turned around, his stomach dropping at the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear nothing else, not even Charon’s shotgun thundering in the distance or the mutants’ screams as they collapsed in gory heaps. Only that awful squelching and slurping. Its tendrils writhed out of its mouth eager for prey as if it could taste him, and its large body slid across the ground like a snail, leaving a radiated, gelatinous trail behind it. A centaur - one of the most feared and horrifying creatures in the Capital Wasteland.

For whatever reason, it immediately stopped moving towards Gob, letting out a pained shrill that seemed to reverberate through the air itself. Gob was confused... until he saw the glisten of a combat knife sticking out of the centaur’s neck. It whipped around suddenly, its attention averted, and another disgusting squelch escaped its mouth. It sounded different… deeper, more hostile, _angry_. Beyond it was Charon, his shotgun pointed directly at the monster, his eyes flaring with a battle-hardened fire. “Come on, you want some?!” he taunted before unloading a flurry of buckshot into the centaur’s torso. Gob hated himself in that moment, because all he could think about was how _adorable_ that was.

Just as Charon cocked his lever and started pressing the trigger again, a long tendril shot out of the centaur’s mouth, tightly wrapping around Charon’s wrist, and with a violent squeeze, the shotgun flew out of his hands. The blaring discharge of the shot made Charon’s ears ring. _‘Well, fuck.'_

The mutated beast then charged at Charon with a surprising speed. Once it was face-to-face with Charon, he gave it a satisfying right hook in the jaw, causing the tendril around his other wrist to loosen. Charon seized the chance and grabbed one of the other tendrils, using it to vault on the centaur’s back. He wrapped the slimy string of flesh around its neck, immediately pulling it taut. The centaur attempted to shrill in protest as it struggled to breath, the other tendrils wriggling out in every direction in a panic. One of them darted out and wrapped tight around Charon’s neck, and another few gripped around Charon’s torso, and they all simultaneously squeezed firmly and violently. Charon could feel his ribs popping and cracking, a mix of saliva and blood trickling out of the corners of his mouth as he struggled to get air. He forced himself to swing down and retrieve his knife, earning him some sickening snaps of bone that made him breathlessly yelp. Even as he coughed up blood all over the centaur, the few breaths he could manage of pure agony, Charon plowed his knife in and out of the monster’s head, his other hand struggling to relieve the pressure off his neck. With each stab, another tendril would catch another part of his body and compress, but nonetheless, Charon didn’t stop. The centaur was clearly on its last legs, but it miraculously managed to heave Charon away, his heavy body skidding across the road until he laid face-first.

With staggered, pained breaths and wet coughs, Charon slowly propped himself up on his elbows, and through half-lidded eyes, he saw his shotgun within arms reach. He heard the slurps and grunts of the centaur as it searched for Gob, and Charon took the opportunity to lunge for it (much to his body’s protest). He lined up his shot, catching its head directly in his sights, and he cocked a slug in the chamber with a snarl.

“Fucking… monster.”

And with a final bullet, there was nothing left of the centaur’s head - just a grotesque stump where it used to be. Its malformed body slumped onto the ground, giving one last gross squish of flesh. Charon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and he shook as a wave of pure agony coursed through his body, a surprised yelp escaping him. Each attempt to sit up was immediately denied, coughs turning into jarring hacks of blood, his lungs burning sharply with every hitched breath. As he collapsed onto the road face-first yet again, all Charon could do was think about Gob, the contract pulling and pulling, trying its best to fight off the blackness. He had to get him to Underworld... _he had to_. He started to crawl toward that heap of concrete, his orders driving him.

_He had to..._

And then his vision went black.

\---

Gob hadn’t had the strength to poke his head out of cover at any point during the fight, and it wasn’t until all fell eerily silent that he swallowed the large lump in his throat and gathered enough courage to peek out. He couldn’t hold back an alarmed gasp as he saw the centaur, now a heap of flesh and tendrils motionless on the ground, blood coating its body from the fountain that was the remnants of its neck. Gob couldn’t prevent the consequential hurling. 

Something panged at Gob, and he felt something wasn't right. He suddenly found himself on high alert, leaping out from behind the concrete. Where was he? ‘ _Where is Charon?!_ ’ Gob started to panic, and he began to frantically scan and pace around the area. His heart sank as his eyes eventually spotted a familiarly bulky body sprawled on the ground a few yards away - he could recognize that ginger hair from anywhere. Gob’s breath caught in his throat, his heart beat a mile a minute, and he sprinted towards it without any thought. Tears started to sting the corners of his eyes.

“C-Charon…? _Charon?!_ ”

Gob practically collapsed onto his knees beside Charon, the tears cascading down his face as he gently rolled Charon’s heavy body over in his arms, gripping the other’s hand tight. Charon’s face was contorted in what seemed to be unbearable agony, the streams of fresh bright red consistently seeping from his mouth contrasting the maroon tones of his patchy face. Gob choked on a sob, and while Charon was thankfully still alive, his breathing was ragged, strained, and shallow. Bruises from the tendrils’ crushing grip littered every part of Charon’s body that Gob could see. Occasionally, Charon would attempt to open his eyes, though they would roll back and flutter closed as he coughed and hacked.

Gob could in no way stop the tears that rolled down his face or the uncontrollable sobs scratching his throat. Why didn’t he help? _Could_ he have helped? His ruminations were interrupted by quiet whispers that Gob could barely make out as words, interspersed between wet coughs. “... Are you… injured…?”

Gob’s eyes locked with Charon’s languorous ones, and Gob instinctively tightened his grip around Charon’s hand. His normally piercing, stern, bright blue eyes were now an atypical unfocused and cloudy, the only ripples of any form of liveliness being shocks of pain. Gob had to swallow another lump in his throat and curb his sobs before he was able to answer. “No… I-I’m okay,” he said softly, not realizing he was holding Charon closer than before. He wondered, how were they going to make it back to Underworld? It wasn’t terribly far now, at least… but how would Gob carry him? There was no way Charon could walk in his condition… 

His thoughts were cut short by the loud, agonizing yelp of pain Charon made as he feebly attempted to sit himself up. It reverberated through Gob’s entire being, and the sheer helplessness of the hardened bodyguard made his heart ache two-fold. Charon practically collapsed back into Gob’s arms; even that minuscule of exertion was enough to make him wheeze. Gob's tears didn't stop. ‘ _God, he is injured badly… What do I do?!’_

“Charon--”

“I… have to… get you… Underworld...” Charon sputtered breathlessly, every word seeming to exert all of his energy to say. The contract violently and relentlessly pulled, and though normally he would be experiencing debilitating symptoms (typically a migraine and his nerves feeling as if they were aflame), its pain was lost amidst the rest of his body’s suffering. The only indication Charon could actually discern of the contract rearing its head was a growing blur in his vision. How was he supposed to obey his order if he couldn’t even stand, if he was in too much pain to even talk? The contract answered with an unsympathetic current through the base of his skull, and Charon grit his teeth.

Gob wiped away his tears, and a sudden resolve took him over as he continued to watch Charon fight in his arms. _‘I have to do_ something… _he needs me.’_ He leaned over and carefully snatched up Charon’s shotgun, slinging it over one shoulder. It took all of the strength Gob’s small frame could manage, but he was able to carefully and steadily enough hoist Charon up, draping him over the other shoulder. He situated Charon in such a way that one of his arms coiled around Gob’s neck, and Gob wrapped a tight arm around Charon’s waist to try and help steady him.

“We _will_ get there… together.”

The normally short trek felt to Charon as though it took hours. The pair moved significantly slower now, with Gob having to stop and catch his breath on occasion. Charon couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of pride as Gob somehow had the absolute gall to shoot the hell out of a couple of Super Mutants on their way; he certainly didn’t expect this from the naive bartender who was cringing before his boss not too long ago. Now, Gob was lugging around Charon’s useless body and plowing through those that stood in his way. Charon couldn’t stop the smirk that crept up.

“Gob… you did… good…” Charon’s voice was merely a weakened, pathetic whisper. Gob’s muscles tensed up underneath him, and Charon couldn't see the grin plastered on Gob's tear-stained face.

Charon’s vision was clouding and darkening even stronger at its edges as they neared the Museum of History. His eyelids were barely open, and even that was a struggle. His body shivered, though sweat was streaming down his brow. He was _so tired_ … but the contract tugged impatiently. Gob _had_ to arrive safe, and it was up to him to ensure that.

After another seemingly arduous walk (though in reality, it was only a few minutes), Charon could vaguely make out a figure running towards them through his eyes’ fog. Who the hell was that? Why wasn’t Gob shooting them? Charon’s muscles instinctively tensed up and became battle-ready, though his body soon protested by way of triggering another coughing fit, the strong taste of copper overwhelming his tongue. He could hear Gob’s weird mixture of a gasp and a sob from beside him.

“Gob! What the _fuck_ happened?!”

He recognized that voice. Willow… it was Willow. They were here - they arrived at Underworld. Gob was here safe - by Gob's own doing. A wave of contentment soaked Charon’s body, and it took this as a sign to finally relax and sleep, to give in to the blackness that had been beckoning him. The last thing he heard was Willow and Gob simultaneously calling out to him as he sunk to the ground in a heap with a loud thud.

And he took a moment to look at the sun… it was oddly beautiful. Maybe the last thing of beauty left in this Wasteland.

He heard the echoes of Gob’s wails and pleads for him to stay awake as his eyes rolled back, his lids finally sliding closed, and unconsciousness hit him like a Super Sledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, an intense chapter!  
> And one in which I had to do some interesting research about lung injuries, crush injuries, and all kinds of stuff.
> 
> But hey, this obviously isn't the end, so don't fret!  
> And our boy Gob put in some good work!
> 
> I also wanted to take this opportunity to sincerely thank all who have left kudos! ♥  
> I really enjoy writing this story again after so long, and y'all push me to continue - thank you!


	4. Rain Must Fall

“Gob, I got the other side! Go, go!”

Willow immediately wrapped Charon’s other arm around the nape of her neck, and she demanded that Gob keep up pace. With a newfound vigor, he was able to, and the pair lugged Charon’s now eerily limp body through Underworld. Residents couldn’t help but stare and whisper amongst themselves - Charon wasn’t seen outside of the Ninth Circle often anyways, let alone a mangled, bloody mess on top of it. Gob and Willow ignored them as they passed. Their destination was clear, and they made their way to the back end of the concourse, the home of The Chop Shop.

They practically burst through the door with their combined weight, and they could hear the sharp, annoyed bark of Doc Barrows, who had jumped straight out of his chair. Still facing his desk, Barrows groaned, slamming his pencil down in agitation. “You people…  _ why _ must you  _ assume _ I have the time to deal with your fallen-off limbs and--” 

He was cut off by the sudden gasp of Nurse Graves, her breaths underlined by some sort of horror. In all of their years working together, Barrows had  _ never _ heard her do that, no matter the patient, and that in and of itself was enough to make him turn around.

When he did, instincts kicked into high gear and he hastily dashed towards Gob and Willow, Charon hanging between them startlingly still, his head lobbed, an agonizingly slow drip of bloody saliva seeping from his mouth. Barrows had  _ way _ too many questions… What the hell happened?  _ Is that Gob? _ What in the  _ fuck  _ is he going to tell Ahzrukhal?

Barrows brought himself quickly back to reality. He had a job to do; his mind immediately reset itself to focus on triaging the patient in front of him. Barrows motioned towards an empty bed, and Gob and Willow carefully laid Charon down onto it. He could hear Gob let out a shaky breath as they did. The two of them needed only one glance from Barrows to understand that it would be best they leave. He let out a sigh, grabbed his clipboard and a pencil, and motioned Nurse Graves over (who promptly wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath before joining the doctor). 

Barrows started with a general survey, a way for him to get an idea of what they would be dealing with. With the only part of Charon’s body currently visible being his head, neck, and some of his arms, it proved difficult, but there was enough. The robotic, expressionless face Barrows had always known was now pale (at least, where there was skin), brow contorted in pain and agony, the area in and around his mouth splattered red with blood. “Definitely some sort of internal injury. That is a given.” Barrows made a note on his clipboard. 

He continued to observe, noticing Charon’s rapid, erratic gasps for air.  _ ‘Lung injury.’ _ A thick sheen of sweat coated him and no doubt his underclothes, and he seemed to be perpetually shivering as if he were cold.  _ ‘Fever.’ _ The blood Barrows had noticed before was seeping consistently from Charon’s mouth, seemingly triggered by his sharp intakes of breath. Dark purple and black bruises wrapped around his neck, biceps, forearms, and wrists. They were smooth… not from wire or rope. There was only one other thing Barrows could recall that had such instruments of force. “A wrestle with a centaur, huh? Poor bastard.” He could hear Graves on the other side of the bed let out a surprised gasp in response. Barrows wrote notes on his clipboard. 

Now was the telling part - stripping Charon of his armor and undershirt. Barrows was slightly relieved that Charon was unconscious; this task would be damn near impossible otherwise. With Graves’s assistance, they were able to peel off everything easily enough. It had always baffled Barrows just how in-shape Charon was and continued to be; despite how helpless Charon appeared in the bed now, there was no denying the man could take on the world if he wanted to. Now that Charon’s upper body was exposed, Barrows and Graves could get a better grasp of his condition. They both let out small gasps. The horrific bruises continued down Charon’s torso, with the largest and most prominently discolored encircling just under his pectorals. Barrows swallowed the lump in his throat. The unimaginable force of the tendrils’ grip was frighteningly visible, and numerous, smaller bruises littered the area underneath it.  _ ‘Indicative of broken or fractured ribs.’ _

Barrows sighed, rubbed the bridge between his eyes, and looked up at Graves. She had tears teasing the corners of her eyes. He himself had to take a moment to collect himself before his glance could become piercing and serious.

“Alright, Graves… we have  _ a lot _ of work to do. Charon needs us.”

\---

As Gob wandered around Underworld, he couldn’t help but nervously rub his arms. It was weird to be back here. “Hasn’t changed at all…” he said to himself with a light chuckle. Most of the residents surprisingly still recognized him, and they would practically tackle him with hugs and eagerly ask about Megaton. Gob quickly conjured up some bullshit “everything was great” story. He wanted to just forget all about that place and everything in it.

As Gob was ascending the stairs, the mechanic Winthrop politely stopped him. “Hey there, kid,” he said cheerily, giving Gob a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Home sweet home, right?” he asked with a chuckle, and Gob couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

“Yeah… hasn’t changed at all, has it?”

“Of course not,” Withrop laughed. His face then transformed into one of concern and curiosity. “If I can ask, kid… What happened out there, anyway?”

Gob swallowed the frog in his throat and tried to maintain his composure. “W-We had just entered The Mall after running for… hours. Charon had to stop to rest… damn Super Mutants appeared out of nowhere,” Gob took a deep breath. Withrop placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “They were easy enough… b-but I wasn’t paying attention and…” Another nervous breath. “A centaur came up behind me. Charon ended up killing it, but not before…”

Withrop gave Gob’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, a soft (yet slightly saddened) smile crossing his lips. “It’s alright, kid, you don’t have to say anymore. We’re all just glad you are safe. And knowing Charon… well, he will be fine. That man is as stubborn and full of fight as a pack of pissed Brahmin.”

Gob couldn’t help but chuckle. Winthrop was certainly right about that; Charon had the most fight in him than anyone he knew - today solidified that.

“Well, I’m sure Carol will be very happy you have returned safe,” Winthrop said, giving a friendly pat on Gob’s back. “Better go on up there; she’s been a bit of an anxious mess since Charon left.”

Gob nodded, patted Winthrop’s shoulder in return, and turned to continue up the stairs. Once he stood in front of the entrance to Carol’s Place, Gob found himself oddly nervous, his heart racing, his breathing heavy. He let his hand settle on the doorknob for the better part of a minute, taking a deep breath before making his entrance. 

He was immediately greeted by a loud, excited squeal as Carol ran out from behind the counter, pulling Gob into one of the biggest and tightest hugs he had ever received. Wetness started to collect in his shirt, and Gob could hear the relieved sobs of the woman in his arms.

“Gobbie… oh my God… you’re back…”

“... Sure am, Mom. It’s good to be home.”

\---

A couple of days had passed. Gob had taken to helping Carol and her partner Greta with the inn, mostly helping with food and drink, as that’s what he was used to doing. Occasionally, Greta would glare at him as she went to tidy rooms.  _ ‘What the fuck is her problem?’ _ Gob started to wonder, and as he polished glasses and absently wiped the same strip of the counter, he couldn’t help but worry. Had he done something wrong in his short time back? Did she not even  _ want _ him back? He sighed, taking to organizing the whiskey glasses.

And then, his mind drifted to Charon. He hadn’t had the time to check in on him. Although he reasoned that if something  _ did _ happen, Barrows or Graves would let him know. Then again… no one here really seemed to pay Charon any mind. Would he just be tossed aside and back Ahzrukhal? Gob sighed again as he placed the last glass under the bar with an unexpected anger at the thought. After finishing some other menial tasks, Gob announced he would be turning in, earning a cheery “goodnight” from Carol. Greta ignored him.

Gob had to admit, it was nice to  _ finally  _ be able to settle into a bed and not be scared shitless. For the first time in years, he felt relaxed, content… at home. He found the bed to be super soft to the touch, and it smelled of fresh Abraxo, and the pillows were like clouds under his head. As Gob let his eyes close, a faint smile crept at the corners of his mouth. Sleep had always been slow to come to him, so he was pleasantly surprised when it quickly beckoned him.

The loud slam of a hand on a counter startled Gob awake. “What the hell…” he muttered to himself as he tiredly rubbed his eyes. He trudged to the door, pushing it open a crack, just enough to hear. A good trick he learned at Moriarty’s to avoid detection. Gob could make out the voices of Carol and Greta. He stood by the door attentively and eavesdropped.

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Greta…”

“You know damn well what it is; we have dealt with it before. Or has all this clouded your memory?”

Were they arguing? What were they arguing about? Gob swallowed the lump in his throat. He had never liked arguments.

“Greta, honey, he is family. We can’t just… leave him behind, especially not in that…  _ cesspool _ of a city.”

Him. They were arguing about him. He instinctively shivered.

“Why  _ now _ , Carol?! Why not years ago?” No answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You only make an effort when it’s fucking comfortable.”

“That is not--”

“I know you love him... maybe more than anything else in this shithole of a world, but  _ why the fuck now _ ? And why  _ here _ ? We don’t  _ need  _ him.”

Gob felt as though a raider plunged a knife in his chest. ' _ They don’t… need me? _ ’

“Greta, you don’t mean that. You are being unreasonable… and jealous.”

“Oh,  _ am I _ ? Why won’t you answer the damn question, then?”

Carol’s silence stung, acting as some sort of affirmation. His heart dropped into the growing pit forming in his stomach. Finally, Greta’s annoyed grunt broke the silence.

“I don’t understand you. I’m going to bed.”

Gob silently shut his door, and sat on the floor, his knees hugged tight to his chest. Once he heard both pairs of heels click away into another room and the door click shut, he choked out a sob, tears brimming in his eyes. Did they really not want him? What was the point of bringing him back, then? Did Charon put his life in danger…  _ for nothing _ ?

He abruptly left his room and Carol’s Place and briskly walked down the stairs. Gob guessed it was about midnight, maybe one - Underworld’s concourse was deathly quiet. Most residents were either asleep or upstairs giving Ahzrukhal business. Gob shook the jitters from his hands before opening The Chop Shop’s door. 

“You are out quite late, Gob. Feeling well?” Nurse Graves warmly greeted, a soft, tired smile on her face.

Gob weakly nodded - probably not too convincing - and rubbed the nape of his neck nervously. Graves chuckled lightly before returning to her work, no doubt trying to meet one of Barrows’ strict deadlines. Barrows seemed to be out of the office, presumably retired for the night, and the bed in the furthest corner was blocked off by a cloth partition. Gob audibly swallowed.

“Is… is C-Charon okay?” Gob asked quietly. Graves stopped typing on the terminal and stood up, turning towards him. She walked over and placed a reassuring hand on one of his own. Did this mean bad news, or was she just being nice? This usually meant bad news, right?

“Yes,” she said gently, her smile widening ever so slightly. “After loads of stimpacks and sticking him in with Meat and Ethyl over there…” She pointed to the Glowing Ones in the adjoining room, the radiation a visible cloud around them. “... We were finally able to at least make decent headway with the healing process.”

She paused, turning and leading Gob towards the blocked off bed. ‘ _ He must be behind there… _ ’ No doubt so people don’t gawk.

“That centaur did a fucking number to him,” she continued. “I’ve not seen him in that rough of shape for quite some time.” Graves wiped at the corners of her eyes. Gob felt he needed to do the same. “He has woken up only a couple of times, every time trying to tell Barrows he has to get back to Ahzrukhal… stubborn ass. The man can’t even stand yet, and even if he won’t say it, I can tell he is in agony. I’ve had to inject him with some hella strong Med-X more than once just tonight.”

When they stood in front of the cloth barrier to the bed, Graves turned to him, an oddly sympathetic yet stern look in her watery eyes.

“He still looks and feels like absolute shit. So just… be prepared for it, okay?”

Gob tried.

Charon looked completely vulnerable, laying on the bed oddly still, the only movement being the irregular heaves of his chest and his brow contorting in pain with each of them. A small (was it fresh…) trickle of blood sat at the corner of his mouth. The smell of copper hung in the air. Charon was stripped down to just his pants, a blanket covering him up to his stomach, and Gob could see just how dark and horrid the bruises were. There were so many of them… Gob’s tears escaped his eyes as they hovered over the horridly large one across his torso. 

“Most of his ribs were snapped,” Graves spoke up from behind him. Her voice was quiet, an undertone of sadness present. “A number of them ended up puncturing his lungs. We were able to get them out, so now, it’s just a matter of the meds and radiation working their magic. He still hasn’t broken his fever...” she trailed off and paused, placing the back of her hand on Charon’s forehead. She shook her head, cleared her throat to try to hide the sob. “The few times he wakes up, he still has horrible coughing fits.” She pointed to the bucket beside the bed. It was empty, but Gob could see the remnants of red liquid inside it. “That’s what that is for… in case that happens while you are here.” 

Graves sighed, turning around and heading back to the desk. “I’m sorry… I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll turn the radio on, might help calm you pre-wars down a little,” she jested with a sad grin, replacing the barrier and clicking on the radio. The ‘40s and ‘50s classics soothed Gob. In Megaton, they couldn’t get GNR. He had missed it.

Gob pulled up the only chair in the small corner to the side of the bed. Against his better judgement, he placed a hand on Charon’s, gently caressing it with his fingers. Charon stirred ever so slightly but did not wake. Gob let out a sad chuckle as one of his favorite songs played out of the radio’s crackling speakers.

_ [ Into each life some rain must fall _

_ But too much is falling in mine… ] _

Gob wasn’t in control of his hand anymore as his fingers traced the striations of muscle in Charon’s arm, eventually resting on a scarred cheek. Gob traced every line of raised, knotted flesh; Charon’s face told more of a story than could ever be spoken. There were hints of ginger stubble subtly pricking Gob’s fingers as he lightly wiped the blood from Charon’s lips. Gob’s hand started to gently run through the remnants of red hair, and as he did, Gob noticed the purple and black bruise around Charon’s neck. Gob felt sick.

_ [ Into each heart some tears must fall _

_ But someday the sun will shine… ] _

Tears started to drip down and off his face, lightly plopping on Charon’s hand. Why did it have to be  _ Charon _ ? Why him? What if he died? What if he doesn’t get better? What if Carol and Greta kick him out… ‘ _ What if I can’t tell him how I feel?’ _

Gob’s frantic amalgamation of thoughts was broken when he felt a twitch against his palm.  _ ‘Wait… was that…’ _ His heart started beating a mile a minute, his stomach felt bottomless. Teary eyes darted up and down Charon’s body, searching for any sign of… well, anything. Gob shook his head; he must have been imagining things. Charon wasn’t awake, so that wasn’t him… was it?

There it was again, that light brush against the palm of his hand. Gob gingerly tightened his grip around Charon’s hand. It  _ was  _ him.

“C-Charon…?” Gob asked, his voice hushed and soft.

_ [ Some folks can lose _

_ The blues in their hearts… ] _

A weak, gruff groan rattled in Charon’s throat. Gob cried harder, the image despairing him. The usually unfaltering, stoic, take-no-shit brute now seemed to have his energy sucked from him, and though his broad form was still formidable, Charon appeared so unusually helpless laying in the bed. Gob knew if Charon was able, he would immediately return to his post and assume that dark, brooding demeanor, and for a moment, Gob wondered what Ahzrukhal’s response to all this was. No doubt he had visited by now.

Gob sat and lamented for a few minutes until out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Charon finally managed to crack open his eyes. Only a small portion of his eyes were visible, but even so, Gob could see they were glassy, the brilliant blue faded ever so slightly, stings of pain and suffering coursing through them. He unconsciously squeezed Charon’s hand in assurance and was pleasantly surprised when it was returned two-fold. Charon’s ragged, scratchy breathing grew in intensity as he slowly awoke, and Gob was thankful he was there to ease him.

“Sssh, Charon… y-you’re okay. Relax...”

_ [ But when I think of you _

_ Another shower starts… ] _

Charon blinked his eyes numerous times in an effort to fight away the fogginess and darkness, the faint hum of a voice bringing him back from unconsciousness. He had been expecting his employer, but no, that voice was too soft, too gentle. Was that… Was that Gob?

He grunted as his body awoke as well, and a gravelly yelp escaped his lips. Suddenly, all the pain rushed through his body, and it was enough to make him shiver, stars shooting through his vision. Once his body reallocated itself as much as it could, Charon was able to glance over; it was indeed Gob sitting beside him. Gob’s cheeks were damp, glistened with tears, his milky eyes bloodshot with worry and accentuated by bags underneath them. Neither uttered a word for a few minutes - only the sounds of the radio and the faint clicking of Graves’ typing sounded through the room.

“Gob? What are… you--” he finally muttered, though cut off by violent coughs, which made him cringe and cry out in agony. “ _ Fuck _ …” he groaned through audibly gritting teeth. Gob tightened his grip onto his hand in response, and Charon found it oddly… relaxing. Charon didn’t realize he had returned the gesture, Gob’s hand firmly in his as he bucked in pain.

“Bucket… please...” Charon weakly managed out between coughs. Gob vigilantly responded. Charon gripped the lip of it tight, and with Gob’s help, he was able to sit up and lean on an elbow. As he violently hacked into the bucket, he felt Gob shudder and his fingers curl. Shit, he was so tired of seeing his own blood. Once he finished, Charon collapsed back onto the bed with a weak groan, and Gob took the liberty of putting the bucket back where it was, though he cringed inwardly at what he saw. Charon laid there, eyes tightly shut, chest heaving as he worked to regain his breath and composure.

“Gob, you look… tired…”

_ [ Into each life some rain must fall _

_ But too much has fallen in mine. ] _

Gob shuddered, the remaining skin on his cheeks warming as they turned the lightest shade of red. “Oh, uh… I-I couldn’t sleep…” he sighed, “Carol and Greta were arguing, and I just… I needed to get out for a bit.”

Charon groaned as he subtly readjusted himself. “About?”

“... Me. Greta did most of the talking… saying I should leave, asking why I was even brought back… and Carol didn’t… she didn’t say  _ anything _ .” The tiniest hint of anger flared in his eyes, and Gob’s lips contorted into a slight frown. He audibly swallowed. 

“W-Why did she hire you?”

“I… am uncertain,” Charon admitted, staring at the ceiling blankly. For a moment, Gob thought Charon would fall asleep. “Ahzrukhal did not provide information… and it was not my place to ask.”

Gob sighed; he should have figured Charon wouldn’t know. He was just a tool, after all. The two fell silent, and the serenades of a world before fallout flowed through the room. Charon closed his eyes, and for a few moments, he was able to intently listen. He never got the chance to in the Ninth Circle - Ahzrukhal knew it was one of the only things that kept Charon sane, and as such, usually turned it down so it was inaudible in his corner. This song was one of his favorites.

“Gob… thank you,” he finally said, another coughing fit rattling his body. Gob immediately offered the bucket again, and after Charon was done, he set it back down. Charon felt Gob’s hand tighten, and he continued after catching his breath. “You were… brave. I would not be here if it wasn’t… for you.”

Gob’s eyes widened, but before he could utter a response, the door to The Chop Shop slammed open, and a familiarly angry wheezing cut through the music like a hot knife through butter. Charon clenched his jaw, and Gob could hear his teeth grind. “ _ Shit _ …” he grunted, and as he jolted upright, his lungs burned and his ribs creaked in protest. His hand was like a vice-grip, and Gob gave a reassuring squeeze before it was pulled away. Before Gob could even attempt to leave, Ahzrukhal shoved the partition to the side, a snide smirk on his face. Gob was trying his best to stop himself from visibly shaking. He had never been face-to-face with Ahzrukhal, but he had heard enough to make him an anxious mess. From his peripheral, he could see Charon tense up, doing his best to sit at attention. Ahzrukhal chuckled (he apparently noticed, too), placing a greasy hand on Charon’s leg. If Charon could tense up any more, he would have.

“Well, well, Charon… just  _ look _ at the mess you’re in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter required a lot of medical research. x.x  
> Apologies if I got anything misconstrued or inaccurate! 
> 
> They're starting slow, but gosh, the boys are beginning to have their ~moments~
> 
> Thank you all for the support! ♥


	5. Back Against the Wall

Gob felt  _ very _ uncomfortable as he stood there, watching the silent exchange between employer and employee. He wanted nothing more than to leave. It wasn’t until Ahzrukhal’s gaze landed on him that Gob started to twiddle his fingers.

“Welcome home, youngin’,” Ahzrukhal wheezed, “I trust your journey was…” He paused to give Charon a sideways glare, a snarl crossing his lips. “ _ Uneventful _ .”

He knew it wasn’t. Gob found his hands curling into fists; he really just wanted to punch this slimebag. This was all just a ruse…  _ ‘He’s just  _ trying  _ to piss Charon off.’  _ If he was, Charon did not show it. Ahzrukhal raised a brow, beckoning Gob for a response.

“F-For the most part…” Gob admitted. Charon remained expressionless, save for the snarls of pain from forcing himself upright. “We… I was attacked by a centaur. Charon… saved me.”

Gob felt like hurling right then and there.

Ahzrukhal’s black orbs pierced Gob, then Charon. “Oh, Charon… You know I  _ detest _ when you get…  _ reckless _ ,” he drawled, “Or have you forgotten?”

“No, sir.”

“For some reason, Charon… I don’t believe that. But… we will…  _ deal  _ with that later.” Ahzrukhal turned to face Gob, much to his dismay.

“Charon is an important part of my business… don’t forget that,  _ boy _ .” Gob inwardly shuttered. His fists balled up tighter.

Ahzrukhal glanced back to Charon. “Come back to the bar  _ as soon as _ you can stand… no later. Business has already suffered enough from your…  _ carelessness _ .” With that, he turned and promptly left, lighting a cigarette on his way out, without another word.

Gob released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He looked over at Charon, who had collapsed back onto the bed in a sweaty and seemingly even more tired heap. Gob brushed his fingers against one of Charon’s clammy hands, trying his best to give a soft smile.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get some rest, Charon.”

As he turned and started to make his way out, he could hear from the bed, “Good… night…”

\---

Sleep proved hard to wipe from Gob’s eyes as he wiped the counter for the umpteenth time that morning. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. He sighed, continuing the menial tasks of setting up for the day. He found himself occasionally fumbling glasses and dropping utensils, cursing under his breath. Carol eventually glanced over in concern.

“Gobbie, darling, are you feeling well?”

“O-Oh, uh…” Gob stuttered as he dropped a Fancy Lad Snack Cake on the floor. Thank God it was wrapped. “Just, uh… didn’t get a lot of sleep is all.” He quickly scooped it up and winced, expecting fierce retaliation.

“You just seem… preoccupied.”

“I-I’m sorry, I promise it won’t happen again,” Gob cowered, and for a moment, he forgot Moriarty wasn’t in the room. His breath quickened, beads of nervous sweat collecting on his brow, and as Carol approached, all Gob could see was  _ him _ . He winced. Her motherly smile brought him back to reality.

“Relax, Gobbie, I’m not trying to attack you. I just want to be sure you are okay… being back home and all. I’m sure it is a big change, dear.”

Gob nodded, his lips curling up slightly. “I-I’m sorry. Thank you… Mom.”

The next couple of days flew by, and Carol’s Place was more busy and prosperous than before. Gob could only guess that it was the more abundant liquor sales, which he pat himself on the back for. Throughout the day, residents would come in through the Ninth Circle entrance; he could only imagine how pissed Ahzrukhal must be, seeing his customers walk out on him. Swindling could only get him so far, Gob supposed.

At the end of a particularly busy day, Gob wiped the sweat from his brow and after helping clean up for the night, he announced to Carol and Greta that he would be out for awhile. Carol wished him for a safe outing, while Greta simply glared. 

“Going to visit that  _ bouncer _ again?” Greta sneered venomously. She had a pretty low opinion of Charon, Gob had found out.

“Yes… is there a problem?”

“Only that there are plenty of other ghouls that would be better to spend your time with,” Greta huffed, an unspoken “like us” hidden in her snarkiness. “What makes  _ him _ so special? He’s just Ahzrukhal’s fucking dog.”

Gob could feel his hand twitch and his jaw clench. He  _ really _ wanted to punch her in the face.

He didn’t even give her an answer, instead just turning around and walking out the door. Gob could hear frustrated huffs and desperate coos behind him, but he quickly tuned it out. He didn’t talk to anybody on his way, simply bee-lined to The Chop Shop.

\---

Charon was relieved he was at least able to sit up relatively pain free now (though he reluctantly needed Graves’s help). He was growing quite tired of being confined to bed, and ironically enough, the ache in his muscles from inactivity prevented him from getting decent rest. Sudden movements were still agonizing and coughing fits still hit him every so often, but at least the numerous stimpacks and radiation treatments were finally resulting in improvement. Graves had been kind enough to give him a book about the history of rifles she had found while scavenging. Charon was now re-reading it for the third time.

Besides Ahzrukhal expectedly coming in - drunk, most of the time - and belittling Charon for his predicament, it had been a silent few days. Charon figured that Gob would’ve at least poked his head in by now. Charon wasn’t mad per-se, but there was a slight pang of… disappointment? He shrugged it off; it shouldn’t surprise him. With a gruff sigh, he turned the pages of the book, seeing the same diagram of scopes based on caliber for the third time. Now, though, it was unable to keep his attention. Charon didn’t realize what overcame him, and he let his eyes droop shut.

Gob greeted Graves warmly once he entered, who was seated at the terminal working as usual, and made his way to Charon’s bed. He really felt terrible for not being able to visit since that night Ahzrukhal busted in, and his stomach turned. What if Charon hated him now? What if he thought he didn’t care? He found his hands anxiously shaking.

The sight as he opened the cloth partition made Gob’s heart flutter, and he couldn’t help but softly smile. Charon was not only sitting up, which was definitely a great sign, but he was holding an open book in his lap.  _ ‘A book about rifles. How fitting for him.’ _ Charon’s head was leaned back against the wall, his face unnaturally peaceful as he dozed off. Gob couldn’t help but chuckle lightly as he took a seat at the bedside. A very faint, light snore would rumble out of Charon’s chest as he exhaled, and Gob couldn’t help but notice the still-dark bags under his eyes - the man must be exhausted. It was an odd and very rare moment when Charon wasn’t a terrifying, foreboding bouncer who would kill on command. 

Gob was very careful as he placed a hand on top of one of Charon’s as to not wake him, but he should’ve known it wouldn’t have worked. He was suddenly met with those piercing blue eyes, which thankfully had a lot more life and brightness in them now.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Gob immediately apologized and retracted his hand. “You look… better.”

Charon straightened his posture, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table beside his armor. He nodded, “I feel better, yes.”

Gob nodded in return, not knowing what else to say. He always got so tongue-tied around Charon... 

“Also, uh, sorry for not coming down lately… Carol’s has been so busy,” Gob finally said after swallowing the frog in his throat.

“I’m certain Ahzrukhal is pissed,” Charon replied with the smallest hint of a chuckle.

“I’ve… I’ve actually been thinking about something…” Gob muttered. Charon curtly nodded, an acknowledgement for Gob to continue. “I-I might go back to Megaton, open the saloon back up there...” 

Charon was legitimately surprised, his eyes flaring with some unknown emotion. “Why?”

Gob didn’t know, and his silence told all.

“Until you can answer that question, don’t.”

Somehow, that very simple piece of advice resonated with him. While Gob didn’t necessarily  _ want _ to leave Underworld, he didn’t know if working at Carol’s was what he wanted to do. Part of Gob missed the hustle and bustle of a proper bar setting (minus the abuse from Moriarty and the patrons, of course). On top of it all, Greta’s constant badgering had been pushing his buttons. He sighed, conflicted. Charon took that as a pass to continue, his lips set in a stern line but otherwise emotionless.

“I was ordered to bring you back, and while it was unexpected… I was ordered to for a reason. And you damn well  _ know _ what that reason is.” Gob couldn’t deny any of what he was saying, so he remained silent. He had no rebuttal. He was startled when Charon took hold of his hand, and even more-so when that large, rough hand squeezed ever so gently in affirmation. Gob reasoned that it was because Charon was tired beyond belief… Yeah, that’s what he would go with.

“I risked my life to get you out of that shithole, away from that _ slaver _ , and away from all those  _ fucking _ smoothskins who did nothing but look down on you and treat you like an animal. You fucking deserve better, and as long as I breath, I will  _ not _ allow you to return. With or without orders to do so.”

Gob sat there positively stunned with widened, wet eyes. Despite Charon’s face being stoic as ever, his words conveyed an emotion he wasn’t even aware of. Charon was protecting him, shielding him… maybe even so far as  _ cared _ about him. Gob allowed the tears to seep from his eyes and he sobbed.

“C-Charon…”   


Charon’s grip tightened around Gob’s hand. God, Gob could get lost in those icy eyes. With quivering lips, he finally said, “I-I promise… I will not go back. I… I deserve better than that place.”

For a split second, Gob could have sworn he saw a smile on Charon’s face.

\---

It had been a few days since the visit from Gob, and Charon was more than happy to finally be out of The Chop Shop. He donned his armor and weapons with a strange eagerness. He took a moment to roll his neck and shoulders, letting out a content sigh as his body realigned itself with a good few pops and crack. Before he left, Charon gave Graves a thankful nod and returned her book, which she jestingly said she would set aside in case he returned. As he walked up the stairs of the Underworld concourse, Charon felt a small sense of despair, though the contract immediately pushed it aside - he  _ had  _ to return to his employer.

The stench of the Ninth Circle hit him like a brick, the wet air leaving an awful taste in the back of Charon’s throat. He gave a short glance to Ahzrukhal before resuming his position in the ( _ his _ ) corner, crossing his arms menacingly and attentively watching the patrons. Soon, it was like Charon had never even left. It ended up being quite a busy day; he didn’t get much downtime against the wall. Charon assumed that while he was out of commission, Ahzrukhal’s clientele decided they could do anything they damn well pleased. They sure as hell got a rude awakening today.

That night ended up being the same routine as Charon remembered. Ahzrukhal practically drooled as he counted his caps for the day - which Charon noticed was a lot smaller - and proceeded to inhale tons of scotch and Jet. A lot more and a lot stronger than usual, it seemed. After a couple hits of an inhaler, Ahzrukhal was a wobbly and near incoherent mess. 

“ _ CChhharon _ …” Ahzrukhal slurred. It was evident he was making a conscious effort to enunciate his words. He hiccuped a few times before he drawled on. Charon stayed against the wall, arms crossed, sharp eyes attentive to his employer (though he was hardly listening). “I… I can’t beliiiiieve you let a  _ cennntaur _ ffuck you up…” Ahzrukhal blurted with a sickening chuckle, taking another hit of Jet. Charon’s expression darkened slightly.

“Wwwhat is that look for,  _ zzombie _ ?!” Ahzrukhal demanded. When Charon didn’t answer, his grip around the near-empty scotch bottle in his hands tightened, and Ahzrukhal would have thrown it if the room wasn’t spinning.

“That fffucking contract… I’d break thhhis over your _ffucking_ _head_ if I could…”

“Physical violence invalidates the contract.” It was a robotic response, and it pissed Ahzrukhal right off. He violently snarled, threw the bottle against the wall mere inches from Charon’s feet, and stormed to the back room, muttering incoherently. Charon shook the bits of glass off his boot and continued to lean against the wall. Every so often, he would take a quick glance to the closet, but he would just as quickly return to staring at the opposite wall. He could  _ really _ go for a smoke.

Several hours passed, and Charon had long stopped paying Ahzrukhal any attention. He could hear the occasional breaking of glass, the slight thunk of empty inhalers thrown against the door, loud scotch-driven ramblings and curses. Charon had stopped caring long ago - let the man have his temper-tantrum. 

That is, until it became suspiciously quiet. 

The contract started it’s persistent pulling and tugging. Unsheathing his combat knife, Charon slowly made his way to the back. The base of his skull and neck started to pulse and throb, and he started to see stars. ‘ _ Why now? _ ’ His pace quickened. As he placed a hand on the doorknob, his head felt as though it was being crushed by an anvil, and it didn’t let up one bit as he opened the door.

Charon then got the answer to his question.

Ahzrukhal laid on the floor, unmoving, foamy saliva seeping from his mouth, vomit pooled around his head. Numerous empty canisters and bottles littered the floor, most of them pooled by the door. The pain in Charon’s head magnified to the point of almost rendering him unconscious then and there. He had to leave… had to find someone,  _ anyone _ , to take his contract.

He burst through the double doors into Carol’s Place.

Carol, Greta, and Gob all screamed in surprise as Charon plowed through the doors, his head held tightly in his hands, eyes widened in an absolute panic. He instantly fell to his knees with a loud thud, panting heavily through sharp, sporadic grunts. Gob immediately ran over to him and clamped his hands on Charon’s shoulders, shaking him slightly to try and snap him out of whatever trance he was in.

“Charon?  _ Charon?! _ Talk to me!”

“He’s… dead… Ahzrukhal… he’s...” Charon exhaled through his clenched jaw. 

Gob’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was ecstatic.  _ ‘Finally, he doesn’t have to deal with that ass.’ _ Carol and Greta both gasped at the news, though Greta was quick to recover, her lips contorting into a sneer. “ _ What did you do?! _ ”

Gob whipped his head around, hands still steadying Charon. “ _ What?! _ You think he…”

“I… did…  _ nothing _ ,” Charon growled through gritted teeth. He looked up through hooded eyes, and Gob shuddered at the anger that contrasted his icy orbs. “He… did it to… himself.”

Greta didn’t seem at all convinced, giving a growl of her own. Gob turned his attention back to Charon, and he grew increasingly more concerned as whatever symptoms were afflicting the bodyguard weren’t letting up. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse. “Charon, what is going on? What can I do to help?”

Charon was now curled into a ball on the floor, his grunts turning to wails, knuckles white as he gripped his head. Gob cringed as Charon struggled to form sentences, his words coming out in gasps and yelps. “Contract… in Ahzrukhal’s safe… I… I  _ need _ to be… under employ.”

“Charon, look at me,” Gob demanded with a newfound resolve, determined to help the suffering man in front of him. Charon surprisingly did so, the pain and confusion in his eyes stabbing through Gob’s heart. It was up to him - Gob had to be the one to free him of his torment. “Stay here with Carol, please. I will return. Just hang in there, big guy.”

After giving Charon’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, Gob stood and immediately started on his way to the doors leading to the Ninth Circle. He gave one last glance to Charon before opening the doors to the putrid bar. All that was on his mind was Charon as he started rummaging through the shelves under the counter, tossing aside bottles, used inhalers, and empty crates frantically. He even searched Ahzrukhal’s body, which he was surprised he even had the stomach for. It turned out to be the ticket, for on it, Gob found a small, slightly battered piece of paper with numbers hastily scribbled on it; a safe combination, perhaps?  _ ‘Charon did mention his safe… may as well try it.’  _ He was somehow able to discern Ahzrukhal’s horrid penmanship, and he grinned ear-to-ear as the safe clicked open. Gob shifted aside piles of caps and drugs, his hand eventually fumbling upon a delicate parchment. It was battered and clearly aged, the ink almost faded entirely, and some parts of it were stained with droplets of blood. The writing was illegible, but as he held in his hands, Gob had a feeling  _ this _ was what he was looking for. He swung the safe closed, holding the paper tight in his hand. Before he walked back into Carol’s Place, Gob took a final gander around the bar, a sudden spark of inspiration hitting him. It would take a lot of work, but maybe, just maybe, he could redeem this place… 

As soon as Gob entered, Charon quietly straightened up in his chair. He stood from the table Carol had made him sit at without a word and walked up to Gob. Those entrancing blue eyes stared into his, and Gob was sure his knees would buckle. Gob didn’t even have to say a single word. Charon knew.

“You now hold my contract, and for good or ill, I will serve you.”

Gob was taken aback. This was all happening so…  _ suddenly _ . What exactly was he supposed to do now? All Gob knew was that Charon was towering in front him, watching him expectedly as if waiting for something. Gob found himself speechless and oddly entranced. It wasn’t until Greta let out an aggravated sigh that Gob snapped out of his stupor.

“So, uh, I-I did have an idea, and I-I’d love your help…” Gob started, gesturing to the doors behind him, “Maybe we could… spruce it up a bit in there? Get all of…  _ his _ nastiness out and just… start fresh. W-What do you think?”

Gob was pleasantly surprised when a corner of Charon’s mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Yes, I like that idea.”

The two shared an… oddly peaceful moment of silence between them - a sort of mutual understanding. Gob grinned wide. 

He found himself excited to start. His dream was finally becoming a reality after all of these years, and Charon would be with him through the journey. His heart throbbed; he couldn’t ask for anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, here we go, our boys be doing those cute things! ♥
> 
> As always, thank you for the love and support!


	6. Some Rot is Permanent

Gob and Charon worked to the bone over the next couple of days. There was definitely a lot of work to be done, as Ahzrukhal never bothered to maintain the place, but Gob didn’t realize the magnitude of it until they started scrubbing the grubby walls and floors. Charon followed Gob’s lead on the other side of the bar. During a quick break, Gob rested his haunches on his heels and wiped the sweat from his face, stealing a glance over at Charon. He didn’t realize he was staring. Charon had taken off his armor when they started, and now his black undershirt clung tight to him, the muscles in his arms bulging as he worked, beads of sweat running down his exposed skin. Gob’s mouth went dry, his cheeks growing warm. There was something… endearingly domestic about it all. That and Charon was hard _not_ to look at.

Gob snapped himself out of his daydream and resumed scrubbing; they continued for a few more hours before he was starting to slack. His arms stung, muscles tingling and aching in protest. With an exasperated exhale, he sat with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. He looked over at Charon again, who was still working away, his face stoic and blank except for the occasional twitches of the corners of his mouth. No doubt he was fatigued also - despite trying to portray the opposite. _‘God, is he stubborn...’_

“Charon, let’s take a break, yeah?”

“As you say,” Charon responded robotically, immediately ceasing his scrubbing and sitting down against the wall. He quietly worked to catch his breath, the front of his shirt visibly damp with sweat, and he resorted to cleaning his combat knife, occasionally picking at his nails with it. Gob’s cheeks flushed - _dammit_ , he was staring again. He stood up and walked over behind the bar, snagging a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and a pack of cigarettes.

Gob sat against the wall perpendicular to Charon, the glasses clanging as he placed them on the floor. Charon looked up from his knife, seeming to eyeball the amber elixir, causing Gob to chuckle lightheartedly as he poured them each a drink. Along with handing over a now full glass, Gob also offered the cigarettes after grabbing himself one. Charon hesitated, and for a moment, he confusedly looked from Gob to his hand and back again; he was not used to such hospitality. Eventually, to Gob’s relief, he nodded and gently grabbed the drink and smokes. Gob’s stomach fluttered when Charon’s fingers brushed against his ever so slightly.

Charon habitually smacked the pack against his hand before pulling out a cigarette, clamping it in between his lips as he retrieved a flip lighter from his pocket. He was clearly an experienced smoker judging by how he lit his cigarette in such a fluid manner, as if it was second-nature. Charon extended a hand as he puffed. Gob craned his head in confusion.

“You want that lit or not?” Charon snorted, nodding his head to the cigarette in Gob’s hand. 

“O-Oh! Uh, thank you…” Gob stuttered, rubbing his scalp in embarrassment. Just as quickly as he handed it over, it was returned to him with a plume of smoke flowing from its tip. Gob let out a heavy sigh as he took a nice, long drag. Charon did the same.

The two sat on the floor in silence, alternating between puffing their rolls of tobacco and sipping their whiskey. Gob was finally the one to speak up.

“So, I never asked… But, w-what is your contract, exactly? I-I couldn’t read it.”

Charon took another long drag, and after pounding down the rest of his glass, he answered, “As long as you hold the contract, I serve you for good or ill. I will defend you with my life, and the bar if you order me to do so. I will obey orders without question, so long as they do not intend to harm you or myself. Physical violence on your part invalidates the contract, and I will be forced to defend myself.”

Gob sat there and just let the information sink in. Of course, he had never realized the extent of Charon’s ‘employment’ under Ahzrukhal, and now that he knew, Gob felt sad for the man. He realized the two weren’t that dissimilar; albeit there was no binding parchment, but Gob was in the same circumstance under Moriarty. They were just pawns, slaves disguised as underlings or employees. It made Gob shiver just thinking about it, and he took a long drink.

He hesitated to ask anything else, though another, short swig provided some liquid courage. “Was this pre-war, then?” Charon shrugged. “Do you not remember… _anything_?”

Charon stumped out his cigarette on the floor, and suddenly, something changed in his eyes. Gob couldn’t place it. Was it… sadness? Guilt? Regret? An odd mixture of them all?

“No.”

It was the most simple of answers, yet something about the way Charon said it made tears well in Gob’s eyes. It wasn’t that Charon didn’t _want_ to talk about the past - he _couldn’t_. Gob wanted to reach out and console him, hold him close and let him know everything was alright. But he stopped himself and instead refilled Charon’s now empty glass. Charon downed it all with no hesitation. 

“I-I’m sorry to bring it up,” Gob muttered, fiddling with the edge of his glass.

“If you request information, I am to provide to the best of my ability.”

“Well, what happens if…” Gob started shakily, polishing off his drink before finishing, “W-What happens if there is no contract…?”

Gob was surprised when he actually _saw_ an emotion on Charon’s face - a melding of confusion and anger. He found himself extremely nervous about the answer, yet he continued anyway. “If there is no contract to bind you, then… then you can be free… right?”

Charon let out a gruff, frustrated sigh, snatching the whiskey bottle and chugging straight from it. Gob was startled, especially after the bottle was soon empty. It was like Charon was _trying_ to get plastered… trying to forget about the contract entirely.

“That is not how it works,” he rasped, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath, “If you were to attempt to destroy the contract, I would have to resort to… _extreme measures_ to stop you.” There was a certain inflection of Charon’s voice, on top of that emotionless yet powerful glance, that made Gob quiver. Extreme measures… _‘Does that mean… he’d try to kill me?!’_

“It just isn’t fair, Charon…” Gob muttered, a hint of defeat tinging his words, “I was able to be freed, and now look at me… doing exactly what Moriarty did…” 

“ _No_ ,” Charon snapped, making Gob jump a little in surprise, “I am no slave, and you are _nothing_ like him… or Ahzrukhal. They were both filthy, selfish bastards. Moriarty used you for his own personal fucking agenda.”

Gob was taken aback by the sudden emotion Charon displayed. At this point, the robotic, all-business facade Charon usually carried seemed to falter, an intense flare igniting his blue eyes as he continued.

“The world is better off being rid of them. They had no morals, no remorse, _nothing_.” Charon paused, sighing and lightly picking at the lip of the empty whiskey bottle absentmindedly. “Gob, you rightfully deserve to be a free man; as long as I can recall, I haven’t been. The contract is all I’ve known, and… I don’t know how or if I would function if freed of it.

“I have been conditioned to be a _monster_. I’ve forcefully looted, I’ve murdered the innocent, I’ve taken hope away from the few in this fucked world who had any left. Do you understand, Gob? There is nothing I _can’t_ do. As such… I don’t deserve to be free from any of this,” Charon paused and was grateful that Gob went and grabbed more whiskey - a fifth of it this time. He filled both of their glasses to the brim and placed the handle on the floor in between them.

“You were ordered, _forced_ , to do all of those things, Charon. I truly think that…” Gob trailed off, sloshing his drink around nervously. He spent a couple of moments just staring into the pool of amber, collecting his thoughts, and when Gob finally met Charon’s gaze again, those hard eyes had softened ever so subtly.

“Charon, I-I know this may sound strange… fucking stupid, maybe, but… I truly believe you aren’t as bad of a guy as you like to think you are. You got fucked up before or when the bombs fell, and countless people have treated you like shit - treated you like you _aren’t a person_ \- since. But that doesn’t make _you_ the monster.”

Charon let out a guttural growl in response, his grip on his glass’s lip tightening. “Gob… if my employer orders me to kill, _I kill_. If my employer orders me to rape and pillage, _that’s what I do_. I obey without question. I don’t even _remember_ what I was like before… this,” he paused, drearily looking at his patchy hand, his voice quieting as he trailed off, “I could have been anything… perhaps I was a monster from the start.”

In that moment, Gob came to the realization that Charon only knew his actions; that was _all_ he could see himself to be. _‘He only sees the bad he has done… He doesn’t think he has any good. I can’t even imagine…’_ He gulped down the lump of palpable anxiety and fear lodged in his throat, along with an entire glass of liquor. Charon soon snatched up the large bottle and started drinking directly from it, and it took all of Gob’s courage to (cautiously) grab it and set it down. Charon’s breath smelled of the harsh, aged cinnamon whiskey and stale cigarettes, mingling with his signature aroma of leather and gun oil. Gob found himself out of his own control.

“Gob… what the fuck are you--”

His breath was taken right out of his mouth as Gob’s lips connected with his. Charon sat there stunned, almost statue-like aside from his quickened breathing. Even though the light peck only lasted a few seconds, to Charon, it felt like minutes. Once he pulled himself away, Gob practically curled into a ball, cursing and muttering to himself. Charon sat there in disbelief still, his gut wrenching and tying itself in knots… but no, it wasn’t the contract’s doing, it didn’t feel the same. What the fuck was it?

Suddenly, Gob hopped onto his feet and nervously wiped his hands on his front. “W-Well, uh, we should probably get back to work… Bar won’t clean itself,” he chuckled, his voice cracking.

Charon simply nodded, thankfully able to compose himself rather fast, capping the fifth to save it for later. “As you wish.”

\---

They had made excellent progress. The walls and floors of the Ninth Circle now had an unfamiliar sheen of cleanliness, and Gob couldn’t help but stand there and gander at their work for a few minutes. A long, deep yawn escaped his lungs; he was exhausted. Gob rolled his shoulders and turned to see Charon sitting at a table mechanically taking apart and cleaning his shotgun. And as he found himself staring yet again, Gob wanted to slam his head against the wall… repeatedly. Even more-so as he remembered the events from earlier that day. ‘ _What the fuck was that? You kissed him,_ seriously _?! Why did you do that? What made you_ possibly _think that was a good idea?_ ’

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He just needed sleep, he told himself.

Gob could see Charon’s profile from where he stood, and he noticed those bags under his eyes still hadn’t disappeared. In fact, they looked heavier. Guilt panged Gob’s heart, and he inadvertently vocalized his concern. “Charon… When’s the last time you slept?”

Charon’s hands stopped fiddling with the metal pieces on the table, though he didn’t look up. “I… do not recall. I do not require sleep.”

Gob’s eyes widened, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. From what he had heard, Ahzrukhal had never let Charon properly rest - no resident had ever seen him _not_ in that corner, no matter what time of day. Not even after Charon’s injuries. Gob wished Ahzrukhal was still alive so he could kill that bastard all over again. He pushed the anger aside.

“I-I hope you don’t mind, but I cleaned up and arranged the storage room for you. There’s a bed and a set of clothes… so you don’t have to sleep in your armor and can wash your set,” Gob paused, nervously rubbing his forearm, “I, uh, hope they fit… they’re mine.”

That last sentence grabbed Charon’s attention, and there was a hint of surprise in his eyes as he looked up from the table. Gob had… offered his own clothes for him. No employer had _ever_ done that. He found himself speechless for a good bit, and when he finally found his words, Charon cursed the fact his breaths were shaky. “Thank you…”

Gob smiled warmly. “Of course, Charon… i-it’s not a big deal,” he said with a yawn, rubbing his eyes, “Feel free to stay out here as long as you’d like. I’m going to turn in.” As if on cue, Gob yawned again. “Just… try to get some sleep, Charon. I know you said you don’t need it, but.. you _do_ need, and deserve, some rest.”

“As you say,” Charon said with a nod, “... Good night, Gob.”

“Good night, Charon.”

As Gob laid in bed, he could hear the metallic clinks of Charon putting his gun back together, and it was strangely relaxing. He couldn’t help but smile to himself once he heard the chair move and the storage door open and close and took that as a cue to let his eyes drift shut. The scene from earlier in the day replayed over and over… the feel of Charon’s lips, the warmth of his whiskey breath, the unprecedented softness in his bright blue eyes. Gob still had no clue why he had done that. Maybe to show he gave a shit… to show Charon that he _matters_ to somebody. And the smallest part of Gob wondered… _‘Does he feel the same? Would he even know?’_ He let his ruminations drift away as sleep washed over him.

It had only been a few hours, at least, before Gob was awakened by a noise out in the bar. He initially thought it was just one of those weird phenomena during sleep… until it happened again. Gob slowly rolled off his bed in a crouch and grabbed the tire iron by his door hastily. He gulped down the lump in his throat before cracking his door open.

The bar was dim and empty. The organized chaos of gun parts, oil, and cleaning cloths Charon had on the table the night before was gone, and he had apparently also straightened the tables and chairs and turned off the lights before retiring. Gob made a mental note to thank him in the morning. As he slunk behind the counter, Gob could hear the noise more clearly - hoarse whimpers, pained groans, an occasional unintelligible mutter. As he scanned the bar a second time and walked into the open area, the lack of anyone else in the room led his eyes to rest on the storage room door. It was slightly cracked open, and from that small opening, Gob could hear the noises, still slightly muffled but definitely coming from the other side. He drew a shaky breath, doing his best to calm his nerves as he gently pushed open the door.

The once-made bed was now completely disheveled, blankets and sheets strewn about on the floor in a heaping mess, and Charon was curled into an almost fetal position on the bed. He frequently tossed and turned, his breathing rapid and panicked, his eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into the mattress as his body jerked. Gob’s clothes, though they surprisingly fit well enough, suddenly appeared tight and constricting as Charon’s muscles tensed. Gob immediately set the tire iron down by the door and took a breath before lowering himself on the edge of Charon’s bed. He had no clue what he should do… but all he knew was that Charon was having some sort of violent nightmare, and Gob couldn’t just let him suffer.

Gob had started to reach a hand out when Charon shot upright in bed without warning. His eyes had snapped open, though they didn’t look normal. They were wide and glazed over, cloudy, unfocused, their gaze eerily set straight ahead. His posture was slouched, and he was still making those sad noises. Gob stopped himself from darting out of the door as he realized… Charon wasn’t actually awake. This was some strange sort of sleep-talking.

Very slowly and carefully, Gob finished what he started, reaching his hand out to rest on Charon’s knee. He didn’t assert his grip at all. “Charon, it’s just me… It’s Gob,” he said softly.

Despite Gob’s gentleness, Charon still flinched away with a whimper. “W-What do you want…?”

_‘He stuttered… Charon never stutters. What does he see right now?’_

“Charon, I don’t want anything. Easy… it’s just me.”

With another flinch, Charon started to frantically back away, only stopping once his back collided against the wall at the head of his bed. Gob did his damndest to remain calm, keeping a hand on Charon’s leg as a sort of anchor. His heart panged at just how uncharacteristically _vulnerable_ Charon was in this moment.

“Don’t… I-I can’t do it anymore… please, don’t… _don’t_ …” Charon muttered, his voice trembling.

Gob’s hand on Charon’s leg gripped gently, though that was enough to make Charon’s breath accelerate. Gob composed himself before doing something he didn’t want to do… but maybe it would help. He had to try.

With a low, stern voice, Gob ordered, “Charon, look at me.”

Charon’s scared eyes immediately darted to meet Gob’s, and it was frankly startling verging on creepy. He had to hold back a sob at just how helpless Charon looked in that moment. The hand on Charon’s leg tightened the smallest amount. To Gob’s surprise, after a few long moments of them just sitting and staring at each other, Charon’s eyelids finally started to droop and breathing evened out. Gob was able to gently lay him back down on the bed, and he couldn’t help but crack a small smile as Charon started to visibly relax. 

“Charon, you are safe. They can’t hurt you here… Relax...” Gob cooed softly, and he found himself absentmindedly running his fingers through Charon’s hair, sometimes tracing up and down a cheek. He didn’t know when, but at some point, Gob took the liberty to lay down beside Charon, bringing the blankets up to cover them both. Charon’s eyes had fully closed, but he would still utter low whimpers, which Gob attempted to soothe.

“Sssh, you are safe, Charon. Gob’s here… I’m right here.”

The whimpers soon stopped, and as Charon started to lightly snore and Gob himself began to doze off, Gob inwardly chuckled to himself, snuggling close to Charon, keeping a tight, protective hold around him.

“I’ll always be here, Charon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say slow burn, I mean it.  
> The nightmare sequence made me cry writing it, I'll admit. 
> 
> I also rewrote so much in this chapter multiple times, hence the long time to get it uploaded - heck, I apologize! The original concept of this chapter was HORRIBLE.
> 
> Anyhow...  
> Thank you to everyone for the support and reads! Y'all are amazing, and I hope you are enjoying the voyage of this ship! :D


	7. Odd Sensations

The Ninth Circle was back in business and better than ever. 

Gob served the slew of patrons with a warm smile, making idle chit-chat with those who sat at the counter. It felt great to be able to run the show himself, and he felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. He had left Underworld to chase  _ this _ dream, but Gob didn’t think returning here would lead to its fulfillment. Occasionally, he would see Carol peek her head in, the most heartwarming, proud smile on her face, and it only solidified Gob’s belief that this was what he needed, where he belonged. The busyness made the day fly by, and Gob found himself unnaturally relaxed and happy, even as he closed the bar for the night (well, early morning). This was definitely going to be a journey. As he counted the day’s earnings, he glanced over at Charon and offered an earnest smile. Gob was very aware this wouldn’t even have happened without that man, and he wasn’t anywhere close to knowing how to repay him.

Charon continued to stand in his corner, leaning against the wall with a minuscule lax in his posture, on high alert as always. He had to take a few moments throughout the day to rub his eyes and the bridge between them tiredly with a gruff sigh. His night terrors were starting to become overbearingly vivid, leaving his body fatigued, sore and without much  _ actual _ rest. There had been a few nights lately, however, that Charon didn’t feel as shit as usual - the nights that he would find Gob clung to his side, arms wrapped around his midsection protectively and legs pinning him to the bed. Charon found himself stumped trying to reason why; previous employers would simply leave him to suffer or, like Ahzrukhal, just order him not to sleep at all. This was the first time he could say an employer  _ confused _ him. He wasn’t angry, though… in fact, Charon found himself…  _ content _ with the idea, perhaps even… looking forward to it.  _ ‘No… that doesn’t make sense. Why would I  _ want  _ that? I never have before.’ _ He peeled his stare away from the opposite wall, meeting Gob’s soft expression, and there was that feeling again - that inexplainable knotting in his stomach. Charon snapped himself out of his ruminations once he saw Gob start closing the bar, pushing off the wall and starting to help clean up.

The two had a solid closing routine: Gob would handle the counting and logging of earnings and take inventory, while Charon tidied up the bar, straightened the furniture, and always triple-checked the locks (his own recommendation). They would share a drink or two before Gob turned in, and Charon usually stayed up cleaning his shotgun or reading an issue of Guns and Bullets, scribbling notes as he went, before eventually retiring to his own quarters.

On one of these days in particular, Gob found himself restless. Sleep refused to come to him, and judging by the clinks and thunks of glass against a table out in the bar, the same fate befell Charon. He sighed and stood with a low yawn, walking out to join the bodyguard. 

Charon looked quite foreboding as he sat at a table, nursing a drink in his hand, the roughness of his face accentuated by the shadows cast by the dim lights. It was pretty evident that he had a rough, sleepless night. Gob rubbed his eyes and sighed again, stifling a yawn as he sat in a chair on the other side of the table. Charon had appeared to grow more and more exhausted over the last few days - staring off into space often, his posture slouching, the undersides of his eyes darkened, eyelids visibly heavy - and it wasn’t until Gob was able to sit and  _ really _ observe that he realized it. Even now, Charon was just sitting haphazardly in the chair, shoulders slack and legs stretched out wherever he had the room, seemingly getting lost in what remained of the whiskey in his glass. It was difficult to tell if he even realized Gob was sitting across from him.

“Nightmares…?” Gob finally asked, his voice hushed and soft. Charon answered with a slow nod. “They seem to be getting worse…” Another nod.

“Yes, they are more… intense, as of late,” Charon admitted. His voice, though normally quite raspy and deep, was even more-so, and whether Charon was aware of it or not, there was the slightest tired drawl punctuating his words. He polished off his liquor before continuing. “Night terrors, I believe they are called. I tend to… not remember the details.” Charon leaned back in the chair, an elbow resting on one of the arms, and rubbed the bridge between his eyes with a sigh. Even maintaining his posture seemed to be exhausting.

They sat there in a shared silence. Charon took to focusing his gaze on one of the many chipped floor tiles, while Gob found his set on the other ghoul. The shadows in the bar brought out even the smallest of features. Somehow, Charon’s abnormally cool eyes stayed bright amidst the darkness surrounding them, and they harbored an unspoken, painful tale spanning hundreds of years. His face was decorated with quite a few scars, though the largest and most noticeable ran across his left brow, ending just before his eyelid. His face was framed by high, bold cheekbones. Amidst the patchiness of his chin was sporadic remnants of ginger stubble, punctuated by established frown lines. What was left of his hair was a lively, matching ginger, and the locks looked as if they would be so soft - Gob found himself yearning to run his fingers through them again. Despite Charon’s hardened demeanor and appearance, Gob was drawn in and unable to break his stare.

He hadn’t realized that Charon’s gaze had left the floor… that it was now on  _ him _ .

Gob was apparently just as tired, because of all the things to look at, he picked Charon. Though he didn’t have the energy to really give a shit, and for whatever reason, his eyes focused on his employer in return. And he found himself enthralled. The entirety of Gob’s face had a foreign softness to it, and yet, Charon could make out the familiar raggedness indicative of a life enslaved. His jawline was accented with scars of various age and size, no doubt from the Megaton bigots’ abuse. Gob’s eyes were the most telling feature of all. They held such warmth and innocence that damn near made Charon sick to his stomach, and he found himself easily lost in the white orbs. The patches of his hair were a beautiful cusp between light and dark brown, framing his face perfectly, only adding to Gob’s natural glow. His cheeks were so full, and Charon had the unexpected thought of how they would feel cupped in his hands. He had  _ never _ looked at an employer in such a manner, and Charon felt nauseous, his heart fluttering as if it sprouted wings, the leftover skin on his face burning, his eyes unable to peer away.

Gob suddenly cleared his throat and rubbed the nape of his neck nervously, finally breaking the prolonged eye contact. He could feel the blush creep across his face, probably looking as red as wine.

“You should get some rest,” Charon calmly stated, distant eyes breaking away to stare into the bottom of his glass, quickly recollecting himself. It seemed as though he could easily doze off right then and there, if the slow drawl of his words was any indication.

“So should you…”

For a reason he couldn’t explain, that response surprised Charon. He felt compelled to obey… but it wasn’t an order. The only response he could muster was a sigh that sounded more like a growl. Charon rubbed under his eyes again, and Gob watched him slouch further into the chair. “If I may… I don’t know if I will be able to rest as soundly as you’d like. So, if I may suggest, sir… please, go to bed.”

Tense silence followed. Charon didn’t dare look at Gob, just focused his stare on his empty glass. Suggestions to employers were always a terrible idea; he had no clue why he offered one. 

A sudden and yet pleasant warmth on his cheek jerked Charon back to the present, and out of instinct, his eyes snapped wide and his posture straightened, immediately on alert. Though Charon found himself taken aback. The source of such a delicate, tender touch was Gob’s hand. He wasn’t applying any pressure in any way, just… sitting there, his fingers occasionally grazing Charon’s skin, pasty eyes soft and yearning. He did not utter a word, just shared a strangely powerful gaze with Charon until, after several long moments, the hand pulled away, though those eyes did not.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll be going to bed,” Gob stuttered, feeling his face redden even more, “Please, at least try and get some rest.” He slowly got out of his chair and shuffled his way to the back room, wishing Charon a good night.

Charon was flabbergasted, left to his own devices at the table. He could feel the phantom of Gob’s touch on his face, and he found that he…  _ missed _ it. An unexpected and unnatural ache in his chest startled him, and when he subconsciously tried to soothe it by kneading his pectorals, Charon noticed his heart was racing. His stomach felt as though it was curling in on itself, trying to slink its way out. His brain searched for a logical explanation - he hadn’t done any vigorous activity, alcohol didn’t have this effect on him… so what was it? So, habitually, Charon blamed the contract. But he knew better.  _ ‘Perhaps Gob is right… I just simply need rest.’ _

With a disgruntled breath, Charon retreated to his quarters - something which still amazed him. Despite him not requiring rest, Gob had gone out of his way to put together this space…  _ Charon’s _ own space. He ran a scarred hand atop the folded clothes on the bed -  _ Gob’s _ clothes, ones  _ he  _ had offered - and as Charon changed into them for the night, he now felt a weird sense of longing for their owner. He shook the thoughts away, propped his gun against the wall, slid his knife under the pillow, and laid as usual, on his back with one arm draped across his eyes.

It turned out to be yet another restless night, and Charon quickly gave up on even trying to close his eyes, resorting to staring at the ceiling. But even so, he found solace in the strangest of things, things he never would have even considered or noticed before.

_ His _ touch.  _ His _ eyes.  _ His _ smile. The tiniest hint of  _ his _ scent still on the shirt Charon was wearing.

Charon brought a hand to rest where his heart lay, and sure enough, its beat had quickened merely at the recollection.

He could vaguely recall the first night Gob helped him through a terror - for the most part, the events were a blur, lost to the abyss, but Charon  _ could _ distinctly recall a single snippet. Gob slowly easing him into bed, treating him as though he were fragile. Gob’s dulcet voice echoing through the terror’s fogginess, never once accusatory, always gentle, soothing. Gob’s tight and protective, yet also delicate, hold around his torso, fingers lightly tracing circles until they stilled from sleep. And that one memory played on repeat, and every time, it left Charon’s chest pounding and his gut churning.

And for whatever reason, Charon just  _ wanted  _ Gob in his bed. Something he had  _ never _ wished of an employer in his over two-hundred years in this world.

Charon didn’t sleep that night.

\---

Gob yawned and ran a hand through his sparse locks as he wiped the counter sluggishly. He thankfully got at least a few hours of decent sleep, but most of the night had continued to be restless. Throughout the day, he found himself fumbling glasses and bottles with mumbled curses and agitated, sharp groans. Gob  _ really _ just wanted to take a nap. From what he observed when glancing to the corner, Charon was in a similar boat. 

Surprisingly, Charon kept up his appearance as the stoic bodyguard fairly well. Even so, Gob could spot the slightest of inconsistencies, and each one made his heart heavy. Charon just looked  _ so _ worn out. His eyes had the uncanny appearance of being sunken in simply due to the dark bags framing them, and despite actively keeping a straight posture, there were moments when he slouched ever so subtly against the wall, his lids teasing to close before Charon snapped them open again.  _ ‘Those night terrors have been relentless lately. God, he looks exhausted…’ _

Charon was, for once, grateful for the patrons who warranted his intervention as it kept him busy, focused on something other than his body. He had gone days without substantial or even any sleep, and though he had most definitely been subjected to longer - hell, he was used to it - the effects were starting to rear their heads. As the day slowed and came to a close, he reluctantly gave in to his body’s demands, leaning heavily against the wall and trying his damndest to rub the sleep from his eyes. Charon hoarsely sighed as he started his part of their nightly routine, leaning heavily on the backs of chairs as he pushed them in and generally completing his tasks slower, much to his own disdain.

While counting caps, Gob would every so often glance up to check on Charon. He had to give credit to the man for trying to hide his exhaustion. It worked on everyone else, but at this point, Gob knew better, could pinpoint the differences. He let out a sigh as he firmly shut the safe, rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand.  _ ‘Man, we both are ready for some sleep…’ _

The night proceeded like any other, and as the two finished their closing duties, Gob yawned. “Alright, Charon, I’m turning in. Thank you for the help, as always, it is definitely appre--”

Gob wasn’t expecting the tight grip on his shoulder, and it unintentionally startled him. When Gob turned around, he was met with Charon’s fatigued eyes.

Before speaking, Charon had to take a couple of breaths, collect himself. He felt his face flare, his stomach was doing that fucking  _ thing _ again. “I… apologize if it isn’t my place to ask, but…” he paused, almost long enough for Gob to think he wouldn’t finish the thought. “Would you… lay with me? It… seems to help with the night terrors.”

Gob was at a loss for words for a minute, and he hated how Charon flinched when he finally answered. “Charon… I don’t mind at all.” His voice was soft, inviting, and he gave the hand on his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leading the way to Charon’s room. 

Charon didn’t expect compliance; he expected scrutiny, punishment, belittlement. But no… instead, Gob was fluffing up the pillows, slowly peeling back the blanket of the attentively-made bed, giggling slightly as he did so. Charon found himself stuck in the doorway, eyes catching every one of Gob’s movements and zoning in on them. The way he cautiously crawled into the bed, snaking under the blanket with a sound of contentment, the warm smile as their gazes locked. After snapping himself out of his thoughts, Charon swiftly removed his armor and weapons, snagging the set of Gob’s clothes he used as sleepwear and, with his back to the bed, changing into them swiftly… to Gob’s astonishment. 

Gob never had really seen Charon  _ fully _ ; the closest being when he was laid in The Chop Shop. He tried not to ogle, he didn’t want to take advantage at all. However, even with his quick peeps, Gob could see that Charon was supremely fit and sculpted, having a figure pretty damn close to those (albeit ridiculous) male pinups before the war. Charon lifted his shirt over his head by the hem in one fluid motion, and Gob could feel a relentless blush warm his neck as he looked away again. He felt terrible, staring at the unknowing man before him, but  _ shit _ , he couldn’t stop himself. He caught a flick up of his eyes, but not before seeing how Charon’s boxers rested perfectly on his hips.  _ ‘Stop.  _ Stop.’ The next time Gob looked up was when Charon affirmed he was finished, and  _ fuck _ , the way Gob’s clothes fit just a tad too snug. Gob gulped, probably audibly, and wished nothing more than to hide his face under the covers as Charon walked around to the opposite bedside.

Charon didn’t know what it was, but  _ something _ seemed to be bugging Gob. Part of him was curious, wanted to ask, but he pushed that aside - it wasn’t his business to know. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. The entire day, he had been plagued by thoughts that he was… unfamiliar with. He thought about the symptoms that ailed him, the ones he couldn’t place, about the night terrors that were back with a vengeance - that  _ one _ memory played like a looping distress signal, though distress was not at all what Charon felt. He recalled the feel of Gob’s fingers caressing his cheek, the contentment he felt looking into beguiling white eyes, and he sat there for several tense moments, just wondering what it all meant.

“C-Charon? You… okay?”

He felt the bed shift, the heat of Gob’s breath subtly sweep across the nape of his neck. Charon had to stop himself from flinching.

“Yes… Apologies.”

He quickly turned off the lamp, his quarters now dark, only graced by the tiniest hint of dim light from the single bulb still on in the bar. Charon laid down into the bed with an unexpected gracefulness, assuming his standard position of one arm over his eyes and the other resting on his stomach, taking as little space as his frame would allow. His muscles instinctively tensed when he felt Gob curl up close against him, and to his surprise, they soon relaxed as Gob started to lightly snore. The small ghoul had his head resting in the pit of Charon’s raised arm, one hand gripping the one loose part of Charon’s shirt, a leg gently yet protectively draped across his own. 

The quiet breaths and delicate, homely contact soon lulled Charon into a peaceful slumber, one of which he hadn’t felt in a long time. And even better, there were no night terrors that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, sorry this took a bit to get up for y'all!  
> Been busy with art commissions and just wanted to be sure this was good and proofread adequately.  
> Not to mention Kinktober started up, so I've been working to catch up on that before uploading the first week's prompts!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!   
> Next chapter, things are going to get pretty ~~adorable~~! (or that is the plan)  
> Thank you for reading and the support! ♥


	8. In Centuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *performs necromancy spells*  
> Rise, my precious!
> 
> Heck, I'm SO SORRY this took so long. I promise I didn't forget about these boyos. ;;  
> I started freelancing, took some time to do some soul-searching, worked on my writing skills... Yeah, it's been a year.
> 
> But, here it is! I hope y'all enjoy! ♥
> 
> (Also, as a side-note, I will be going back through previous chapters and tweaking 'em up. Nothing will change plot wise, but hopefully I can make them read better!)

The position Charon found himself in as he awoke was… unexpected, to say the least. 

Apparently at some point in the night, he had taken to pulling Gob close, his face nestled in the patches of Gob’s brunette hair and arms wrapped around him tight. 

He _should’ve_ corrected himself. Perhaps even should’ve taken to denying himself rest and instead standing guard in the bar -- as he had done without pause for _years_. 

But his body was cemented in place, as if his muscles were made of stone.

As his brain was still trying to piece all of _this_ together, Charon’s body shifted of its own accord. One of his hands started to pet Gob’s hair, rugged fingers tenderly running through the soft, thin strands; the other didn’t leave its place gripping Gob’s waist. Gob stirred only slightly and nuzzled his face even deeper into Charon’s broad chest. 

A satisfied hum escaped the sleeping ghoul. For whatever reason, the sound made Charon’s breath hitch and his stomach leap.

The typical, expected pull of the contract wasn’t there, which in itself shocked Charon. So he just let himself lay there. 

The room was quiet aside from the gentle sounds Gob made as he dozed, and it instilled a peacefulness so foreign to Charon that it was almost _uncomfortable_. Even so, he didn’t budge, continuing to allow his body its outlandish freedom as he counted the cracks in the ceiling.

_This_ was contentment -- and Hell, he hadn’t felt truly content with _anything_ in fucking _centuries_.

Charon found himself wondering _just_ what would happen if Gob were to wake up. He’d allowed himself to be in such a vulnerable state. No, he wasn’t allowed that, not when he _should_ be watching the bar.

But there was something tugging at him, something _keeping_ him there. Charon couldn’t discern if it was the entanglement of their legs, the tight hold Gob had around his torso keeping him there, or even such an inconsequential thing as the _strange_ homely feeling swelling as Gob softly snored, drool leaking from his mouth.

All too suddenly, however, Gob started to wake up, grumbling incoherently as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Charon instinctively pulled away and put as much space between them as possible, arms snug against his sides and gaze affixed to the ceiling.

“Mmm… Morning, Charon,” Gob mumbled with a yawn. He sat up and stretched deep and long, reaching his hands to the sky and sighing as his shoulders realigned. “Hope you were able to rest some. A-Any night terrors?”

“No.” Charon swallowed thickly. He vaguely recalled asking -- rather pathetically, to boot -- his employer to join him. As if he had _any goddamn right_ to do that in the first place. 

Gob’s soft sigh snapped Charon out of his thoughts. “O-Oh good. I hope you don’t mind my asking, it’s just that you seem… distraught.”

“It’s… irrelevant,” Charon responded flatly, his face unfaltering as normal, stoic and unreadable -- robotic. In the recesses of his mind, he pleaded to whatever twisted higher power existed that Gob wouldn’t press further.

“I… I see.”

The two silently prepared for the bar’s opening. Gob brewed a bitter, gritty pot of coffee -- a habit still intact even after 200 years -- and after sharing some cups, Charon swiftly donned his clothes, armor, and weaponry before wiping down and straightening the tables and chairs.

All the while, his mind raced at full speed, a constant loop replaying the moments that Charon couldn’t explain… that left him confused. At the crux of it all laid a culprit so simple and so benign that, to anyone else, it wouldn’t warrant the fret. 

Basic human kindness.

It all started with Gob’s hospitality: giving Charon _his own private space_ , loaning a secondary set of clothes, allowing him to indulge in drink and food… all without asking for a _single damn thing_ . How Gob always caught himself whenever something even _remotely_ sounded like an order, quickly revising his words to sound more suggesting and open. 

And _that goddamn smile_ Gob offered when he didn’t know what else to do. But even that small gesture was _more_ than enough.

It’s the first time Charon recalled feeling _truly_ safe under someone’s employ.

As he pushed in the final chair, Charon noticed the slightest twitches of his fingers. His heart thumped against his ribs. He took a deep breath before briskly walking to his corner, heavily leaning on the wall with arms crossed -- something oddly grounding. The physical and mental symptoms that plagued him were ones he’d not felt before… or at least, not that he could _remember_.

So much of Charon was lost since that fateful atomic fire… and, in some sick and twisted hand of fate, it made him _feel_ lost.

Gob gave him a gentle nod and that warm smile, and it felt as though Charon’s insides were being warped by radiation all over again. He swallowed hard to try and obliterate the lump that had formed in his throat. 

_What the fuck is happening to me…?_

\---

That night, Gob had taken it of his own volition to accompany Charon to bed. He busied himself reading a well-worn copy of Dean’s Electronics -- a welcome home gift from Winthrop, complete with the repairman’s scribbles in the margins. The quaint, little room was silent, though the faintest rasp of a snore would occasionally echo, pulling Gob’s attention from the yellowed pages. His eyes refused to pull away; it was a rare sight, Charon _actually_ falling asleep before him, so Gob wanted to commit the image to memory.

It was baffling just how _peaceful_ Charon appeared, the perpetual creases of his brow and sharp lines bordering his lips smoothed out, an unprecedented softness blanketing his face. Charon’s head was tilted to the side, mouth slightly agape, each rhythmic breath earning a short, deep snore. Sometimes the corners of his mouth would twitch, or his muscles would jerk. Gob would straighten up attentively, letting out a relieved breath when nothing came of it. _Not a night terror… thank God,_ he thought.

As he tenderly pulled the threadbare blanket up over them both, Gob wondered just how they’d even gotten here. Over the course of mere months, their lives had taken such fortuitous twists and turns. He’d left Underworld with nothing but the clothes on his back and a naïve dream, only to end up in the hands of an arrogant bigot. Now, after having lived a life of slavery he thought would be indefinite, Gob found himself back where he started.

And the whole time, Charon was here, stuck in his own Hell of servitude. Gob looked up from his book and over to Charon yet again, and he felt a pang strike his heart. 

What exactly were… _they_? His feelings were now to the point of being impossible to ignore, feeble to explain away. They were unmistakable. 

His heart fluttered whenever Charon’s striking blue eyes met his soft white ones. Anxiety tingled along his nerves when they talked, when they sat in a mutual silence over drinks. His stomach would knot itself whenever he heard Charon’s panicked screams in the dead of night, and then there’d be a pleasant warmth when the large ghoul nuzzled close unconsciously -- something so domestic that it made Gob smile the widest he had in _years_. 

His cogitation managed to circle back to that hopelessness -- even so far as… a _yearning_ \-- he felt seeing Charon laid in The Chop Shop… so close to death, so vulnerable. All to save _him_. 

Sure, Charon was ordered to with no choice but to obey. Regardless, there was _something_ that pushed Gob to believe there was more to it all. That strange, fierce, understanding gleam in Charon’s eyes when their gazes first met in Megaton; the pride Charon exhibited when they hobbled up to Underworld’s entrance; the forceful -- astonishingly _genuine_ \-- retort when Gob even merely suggested returning to that forsaken place.

It all had to mean _something_. Something more than just “as you command.”

… Right?

Gob gulped. His heart pulled one way, and that goddamned piece of well-worn paper in the safe pulled the other. He felt unsure… lost.

Hastily, Gob scribbled a note and left it on his pillow: 

_'Charon -- I’ve gone to chat with Carol. Know I’m safe. I’ll return shortly, but help yourself to the liquor if you need it to get back to sleep.'_

Carol was surprisingly awake, reading a book propped against the register, her hands occupied with polishing glasses. When Gob entered, her face instantly lifted. “Oh, Gobbie! It’s awful late… Trouble sleeping, hon?”

“Yeah…” Gob murmured, uncertainty making his voice falter. “D-Do you mind if we… talk?”

With her classic motherly smile, Carol set the rag aside and walked out from behind the counter, gesturing to a nearby table. “Of course not! What’s on your mind, Gobbie?” she asked as they both took a seat. He started to twiddle his thumbs, his gaze fixated on them. 

“It’s… It’s kind of complicated.” Gob took a nervous breath. “I just, I have feelings for… someone, and the circumstances are a little _odd_. I-I don’t know how to tell them.” Carol placed her hands on his, stilling them, and she said nothing, allowing Gob to continue. “Hell, I don’t even know if _they_ feel the same'' -- _If he’s_ allowed _to_ , Gob thought -- “but I can’t just… I-I can’t sit on it anymore. Something is telling me I-I _need_ to tell them… but…”

“Then _tell_ them,” Carol said softly. She took a moment to study Gob’s face, and a corner of her lips pulled up as if she came to some realization. “I have a hunch that it will be just fine. Your heart has never led you astray before, Gobbie. Even when you left all those years ago… if you think about it, it all just led to _this_. To you returning home a free, prosperous man, who’s maybe even found love in this lonely world. _Trust it_ , hon, and see where it takes you.”

After a few hours of idle chatter, Gob finally excused himself to go _try_ and get some rest. Carol sent him on his way with a heartfelt smile and a kiss on the cheek.

When he opened The Ninth Circle’s doors, there stood Charon, clad in just a black shirt and lounge pants, gripping his combat knife tight. His stance lost some of its rigidity, though there was something about it that Gob couldn’t place. 

It was as if Charon was… expectant.

\---

Charon should’ve just stayed in bed and waited for his employer’s return. That’s what he _would’ve_ done _before_. He knew Carol’s Place was a safe and secure location, free of imminent danger. Yet there he was, an unfamiliar anxiety making his muscles pulse.

“S-Sorry, Charon. I-I left a note…”

“Yes, I saw it.”

Gob paused, shutting and locking the doors behind him. His voice was light, almost a whisper. “I just… I needed to talk to Carol about… something important.”

“You are not entitled to explain yourself to me,” Charon said as he sheathed the knife in the waistband of his -- no, _Gob’s_ \-- pants. He tried not to let his curiosity win over, instead resorting to what he knew best: standing there at attention, hands to his sides, awaiting direction.

There was a pregnant silence. Gob seemed to be working up some nerve, his hands fidgeting as he shifted his weight back and forth with an unsure expression on his face.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so hardened, Charon would be doing the same.

He had taken his time alone to make sense of all the alien sensations rattling around, all the inexplicable symptoms he had been experiencing. Until suddenly, the picture formed -- and that left Charon in a precarious way.

Gob finally spoke, breaking the muse. “I-I needed advice…” He stopped, sighing nervously, gluing his eyes to the floor. Charon stepped forward, closing the distance between them; he kept himself composed, even as blares of protest bounced between his ears.

“I-I’ve been feeling… unexplainable things for a good while… even b-before I left. Now that I’m back… i-it’s all just… hitting me.” A pause.

“I-I was s-scared to be home at first, to be with Carol and everyone else again after so many years. I didn’t know if I’d still be a-accepted, if they would think of me as a… a failure. And now, there’s this… s- _something_ that I can’t place. _Dammit_ , I-I don’t even know if it is all just some s-sick joke, if it’s pointless, if I’m just making myself look like a damn f-fool. I mean, w-what if… _what if_ \--”

Charon’s hand darted out to gently cup Gob’s chin, lifting his head up so their eyes met. Gob’s nonsensical ramblings were immediately cut short.

_Just fucking do it. You’ve fought Mutants and centaurs hand-to-hand… Why are you scared of_ this _?_

Charon sighed heavily through his nasal cavity. He noticed the slight quiver in Gob’s lips.

“C-Charon…?”

Suddenly, the radio became louder, more present. And on came _that_ song -- the song he heard as Gob watched over his enfeebled state. 

The song Charon heard the first time he was treated as a _fucking_ _human being_.

> _[ Into each life some rain must fall,_
> 
> _But too much is falling in mine. ]_

It was then that everything seemed instinctual, as if it was just simply _meant_ to happen. There was no pause, no forethought, even when Charon leaned down and gently planted his lips onto Gob’s. 

His body tried to protest, muscles threatening to jerk him away, but he didn’t allow it. He _wouldn’t_.

> _[ Into each heart some tears must fall,_
> 
> _But someday the sun will shine. ]_

He felt Gob’s arms wrap around his neck, anchoring him, pulling him down to only deepen the kiss. Even as Charon’s hands roamed up and down Gob’s body with a newfound courage, neither pulled away. An unexpected moan escaped him when Gob gave his tufts of hair the slightest tug. And the resulting giggle reverberated throughout Charon’s entire body.

When Gob’s tongue teased his lips, Charon obliged. As they kissed ever so deep and slow, mapping out each other’s mouths, there was that nagging pull, the one that demanded he stop -- _“It’s your employer, nothing more,”_ it would scold.

But, now, Charon knew better. He didn’t stop.

> _[ Some folks can lose,_
> 
> _The blues in their hearts. ]_

Gob wasn’t _just_ the man who now held his contract, who Charon was bound to serve until death.

No. Gob was the only person, Charon realized, he deeply and truly _trusted_. He was the only one who, in Charon’s many years on this decrepit world, gave _any_ sort of damn about _him_. Not the contract, not the unyielding servitude, not the combat skills.

Just… _Charon_.

> _[ But when I think of you,_
> 
> _Another shower starts. ]_

Gob’s touch was hot, delicate and soft. His fingers ran along Charon’s cheek tenderly, and there was an unexpected cool dampness that pierced through the warmth. Through the sudden fuzziness that bordered his vision, Charon saw those white eyes soften, scarred tongue running along thin lips, brow contorted in an oddly sympathetic expression. 

It was several moments before Charon registered it. He brought his own hand up, experimentally brushing the wetness on Gob’s. 

When did he start… crying? Hell… How many years has it been since he last did…?

> _[ Into each life some rain must fall,_
> 
> _But too much has fallen in mine. ]_

Time seemed to slow as they continued exploring this newfound spark. When they pulled away to catch their breaths, they would simply look into one another’s eyes. The exoticness of it was jarring to Charon, but even so, as he saw a bright admiration in the pools of snow-white, emotions long since neglected crashed over him.

It was _overwhelming_ , but Charon found himself unable -- unwilling -- to pull away. As if it was almost… comforting.

“I guess Carol was right,” Gob said softly against Charon’s lips. They were so close; even the mere graze of the bridge of Gob’s nose was enough to send shivers through Charon’s body. The sensual moment was interrupted by a light yawn, and Gob’s face turned a pink hue.

“It is late, you need your rest,” Charon stated. He turned to retire to his own quarters, a cloud of shame looming over him, the contract violently making itself known again. _What gave you the right to do_ that _? He is your employer --_ nothing more.

A firm grip around his forearm startled Charon out of his reservations. He stopped on a dime and turned to face Gob, an inquisitive arc to his brow.

Somehow, Gob’s face flushed even more, almost a shade of red as he stuttered, “Uhm… I-I know it’s a lot to ask, and o-of course you have the right to say no… b-but… W-would you stay… with me?”

Charon’s heart skipped a beat. _No. No. No_ , the contract repeated frantically. 

Though, when he responded, Charon himself was surprised by his words. “Yes. After all… you would do, and have done, the same for me.”

And that smile alone was so fucking worth it.

Once they were settled into Gob’s bed, bodies nestled close and limbs entangled, Charon contemplated. 

The faint traces of Gob’s fingers he felt along his muscles and the carefree, raspy crooning accompanying the staticky tunes of the radio helped Charon clarify some things, however.

He realized this was the first time in _centuries_ that he allowed himself the utmost luxury: to _relax_. He started to rub Gob’s back absentmindedly, relishing in the content sighs that followed, and he felt the tension evaporate from his muscles -- which in any other circumstance might’ve terrified him. A heavy, drawn-out sigh escaped Charon as he let his eyes flutter closed.

And somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Charon finally completed the puzzle.

For the first time in centuries, Charon felt loved… and shared that same love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck, writing Charon ~feeling things~ is hard... but SO worth it. ♥


End file.
